


Strange Brew

by Safiyabat



Series: Winchester and Sons - Teen Years Series [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Child Abuse, Gen, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, POV Sam Winchester, Smart Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-23
Updated: 2015-06-22
Packaged: 2018-04-05 16:51:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 51,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4187466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Safiyabat/pseuds/Safiyabat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Winchester Family Business relocates to Tully, New York in the summer of 1993 in pursuit of what John believes to be a vengeful spirit.  Initially John's intention is to leave no trace of their time in Tully, but Sam finds a way to make some friends anyway.  The case turns out to be more complicated - and personal - than any of the Winchesters could have imagined.  (Sam is 10, Dean is 14)</p><p>The remarkable artwork was done by LJ user Stormbrite.  You should absolutely go check out the masterpost:<br/>http://stormbrite.livejournal.com/6358.html</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for the Case Story Big Bang over on LJ, which gave me the nudge I needed to write something I've been kicking around for a while. As with other stories in this series, John Winchester's Journal is a guidepost; it isn't necessary to have read the Journal to understand the story. 
> 
> This story also follows Trotter Head and It's All In Your Mind. It is not necessary to read those either, although, you know. You can. If you want.

Sam stepped into the trailer behind his brother and put his bag down. They’d stayed in a lot of shady places before but this one outshone the rest. “Where’s the bathroom, Dad?” Dean asked, letting his eyes take in the small space.

Sam’s eyes darted to the one room that had been bracketed off with crossed two-by-fours. He swallowed.

“There’s a port-a-john out back,” their father informed them easily. “The guy that owns the property, Rocco, he sends a truck around every few days or so to clean it. We don’t need more than that.”

Sam’s stomach turned. “Is there running water?” he asked.

John Winchester turned a baleful eye on him. “You think a poltergeist cares if your hands are dirty, boy?”

So no, Sam answered himself, and mopped his forehead with the back of his arm.

“Relax, Sammy,” Dean grinned. “I saw a hose and a spigot next to the place. We should be okay to wash up and stuff.” He reached out and ruffled Sam’s hair. Sam squirmed away.

“Don’t coddle the boy, Dean. We’re not here to be prissy. We’re here because people are dying.” John strode into the small building. “We’re damn lucky Rocco owed Joshua a favor and was able to lend us this place off the books; there’s no reason there needs to be any official record that we were here at all.” He strode into the one separate room that the place boasted. “It’s practically the Ritz.” He turned around. “You boys can bunk down in here. That couch looks like it pulls out.” He looked around. “Come on. Let’s head into town for provisions.”

Sam and Dean looked at each other. They looked at the couch. They looked back at each other. “There is no way that couch folds out,” Dean hissed at Sam.

“There’s no way I’m sleeping on it, either,” Sam hissed back. “I bet you your next time washing the Impala that it’s got an entire colony of mice living in there.”

“Boys!” John barked, pushing past them and out the door. “No lollygagging!”

There was nothing else to do but get back into the car and head out again.

The town of Tully wasn’t much. It was pretty, Sam supposed, in a small-town kind of way. It was old, much older than their usual haunts, and it was green. Everything was green, from the lush (and often overgrown) grass to the tall and leafy trees to some of the rooftops. The town seemed predominantly rural, too, although it had a distinct town center with a library and a few shops. Sam looked at the library with a sigh. “No official record” meant no library card.

The grocery store looked to be on the small side, but well stocked with fresh produce that just had to be local. Sam let himself stare at it as his father and brother walked past. He could usually judge how long they were going to be in a given town by what kind of grocery purchases their father made. As a general rule, Winchesters didn’t do fresh vegetables at all – too expensive and too short a shelf life, not to mention too long of a prep time. Most meats were off the table too, for the same reasons, although Dean would sometimes fix hamburgers if they could get them on sale. John avoided the meat counter this time, though. Not a great sign. He did swing through the pasta section and stock up on store-brand pasta and sauce. He even sprung for containers to put the pasta into, which said that he’d at least noticed the state of the trailer even if he hadn’t said anything. He picked up some other things in cans, too – canned ravioli, canned meat, canned soup – and some peanut butter and bread. Much to Sam’s shock he even picked up milk and eggs before heading into the cleaning supplies section.

The contents of their cart drew stares from the other patrons. From young girls Dean’s age to little old ladies in black, no one seemed to approve of Dad’s nutritional decisions. The little old ladies let him know with more than just looks, too. One, so doubled over that she might have halved her original height, got right up in his face and started berating him in what sounded like it was probably Italian just as they got closer to the checkout counter. At first Dad just looked surprised and kind of indulgent; then he started to look angry. After all, who was she to tell him how to raise his boys? Dean bristled too, for mostly the same reasons.

Sam just tried to stay out of the way. He couldn’t understand what the lady was saying, not any better than Dean or Dad could, but he knew they ate like crap.

Finally, though, one of the cashiers intervened. A teenager, maybe eighteen or so, she spoke to the woman in halting but gentle Italian and got her calmed down before she could hit Dad with her shoe, which she’d been preparing to do. Instead the lady continued about her business, muttering to herself, while the Winchesters went through their savior’s line.

“I guess that lady’s a bit of a handful, huh?” John began with a brittle grin.

The woman gave a thin smile back. “Mrs. Petrillo? She’s a fixture around here. Moved in with her daughter about, oh, sixty years ago and keeps herself busy looking out for all the neighborhood kids. She’s forgotten her English by now, poor thing, but that doesn’t stop her.”

John frowned. Sam and Dean exchanged glances. “What gives her the right to ‘look out for’ other people’s kids, huh?” the patriarch wanted to know as the cashier scanned his items.

She fixed him with a fearless green eye. “Raising six kids alone, on a very tight budget, for starters. She’s a good person. Takes care of others.” Sam thought he’d never seen a bigger hero than this young girl. “That’ll be sixty-five seventy-two, please.”

John paid her, the boys picked up the bags and the family left. John’s back was ramrod-straight and his hands clenched into fists at his sides; he’d be in a rare mood tonight.

The drive back to the trailer was made in silence; neither boy dared to break it on pain of a severe tongue-lashing. When they got back to their temporary home, they unloaded into the main room of the residence and John turned to his sons. “Dean – sparring, now. Out back. Sam – you get these supplies put away. Then I want this place spotless, do you hear me?”

“Sir,” the boy replied, already moving to obey.

His father’s eyes narrowed at him, but he didn’t speak to change his mind or anything. Instead it was Dean who objected. “Dad, shouldn’t Sam get some sparring in too?”

“I’m pretty sure I gave an order, son,” John growled. “Besides, this dump isn’t going to clean itself and I’d rather use my time more productively.”

Dean winced but scurried to obey.

Sam didn’t mind having the trailer to himself and he didn’t mind missing out on sparring practice. Cleaning wasn’t his favorite activity, but having a clean space was. This way, at least, he got to organize the trailer to his preferences instead of dealing with things the way their father wanted them. And he got to avoid sparring, because it wasn’t as though either his father or his brother went easy on him because he was so much smaller.

The downside, of course, was that the trailer was not a comfortable place to be, temperature-wise. He’d thought upstate New York was supposed to be cooler than other places they’d been. After Bardstown they’d gone to Cedar Bluff, Virginia to very quickly address an issue with a wood spirit and then to Frazier’s Bottom, West Virginia for a specter before settling in for the long drive up to Tully, New York and he’d been looking forward to cool breezes and shady trees. Trees, at least, the place had plenty of. It also had scorching temperatures and enough humidity to make it feel like you were breathing through one of Dean’s old gym socks. He’d sweated clear through his clothes by the time he’d gotten done just with the windows – washed properly first, and then with salt water just to be sure.

Dinner was peanut butter sandwiches. Both Dad and Dean looked a little bit the worse for wear, but Sam would have expected that given that they’d spent hours fighting. Sam’s own muscles quivered with fatigue and his clothes had crusted with sweat; how much worse must they be? His father inspected his work to the minutest detail before he would let them sit down, but Sam knew that he would find no faults there. “You covered the couch with a sheet. Why?” the hunter demanded.

“Mouse nest, sir.”

“A mouse nest? You want to explain that further?” John’s brow rose. Sam hadn’t thought that he’d be able to sweat any more than he already was, but he’d been wrong.

“There was a mouse nest in the couch, sir. I got them out, but I knew it wasn’t a great idea to lie down on the stuff they leave behind. Sir. There are diseases transmitted that way. So I put the sheet down. Wouldn’t want to miss out on training or hunting because of leptospirosis or Hanta virus, sir.” Sam kept his eyes straight ahead and his hands folded behind his back.

John sneered. “Aren’t you a prissy little thing? Worried about diseases when there’s something out there killing people right now!”

“You and Dean can’t do much to help them if you’re sick or dead, sir,” Sam shot back. He met his father’s eye.

Dean squirmed. “He’s got a point, sir,” he admitted, face screwed up like he’d bitten into a powdery lemon. “I mean, I’ve got no problem roughing it, you know that, sir, but leptospirosis isn’t anything to mess around with.”

John’s lip curled, but he said no more as he continued to inspect the trailer. Instead, he sought out dirt in the most obscure places. Fortunately for Sam, he’d been expecting this. When John found no further faults, he decided that they could go ahead and eat, having nothing further to say about Sam’s housecleaning skills. Instead, he turned to Dean. “I have to say, Dean, I was pleasantly surprised by your performance today. I would have figured that spending so much time cooped up in the car would have left you stiff and slow, but you moved just fine.”

Dean preened. Of course he did. Dad didn’t hand out praise very often. “Thank you, sir. I tried some of those techniques you showed me to keep myself loose while we were in the car; I guess they must have worked.”

“I suppose they must. I could have been happier with the way that you kept dropping your guard after coming in toward the face. I know it’s only me, Dean, but you need to take this seriously. Your life isn’t the only one that depends on this stuff. Your job is to watch my back and to keep your brother safe while we help other people. You’re so worried about some stupid disease that you may or may not get, but you won’t defend yourself against a simple blow to the face like that. You need to keep your mind on what’s important.”

Dean hung his head. “Yes, sir.”

Sam snuck in a glance at Dean’s face. From the looks of it, John hadn’t let Dean’s inability to block stop him from trying to deliver blows to that side of his face. “So what are we in town for?” Sam asked, poking at his sandwich.

John looked at him, intent. “What makes you think that you need to know that?”

Sam quailed. Dean was always telling him that he should show more of an interest, that it would make their father happier if he seemed to want to be involved, but that wasn’t his father’s “happy” face. Then again, Sam didn’t think he’d ever seen his father’s “happy” face, at least not directed toward him. “Just trying to take an interest,” he admitted, looking away. “I’ll stop now.”

“That’s not how you ‘take an interest,’ Sam,” their father told them, gesturing with his beer. “You ‘take an interest’ by buckling down, doing more than the bare minimum of your training without trying to get out of it, and by not asking questions. I tell you things when you need to know them and not a second before, do you understand me?”

“Sir.” Sam wouldn’t say “yes,” because he couldn’t pretend that he understood his father, but he could at least acknowledge what his father had said.

“Go hose off. You stink of cleaning chemicals.”

Sam pushed away from his place at the table. He’d finished maybe half of his half sandwich. He knew it would be gone when he got back. Oh well – he hadn’t been very interested in it anyway.

He grabbed a towel and the soap from the place he’d set up for such things and went outside, only to find out that when his father had told him to go hose off he’d been speaking literally. They hadn’t set up a shower; literally all that they had was the hose attached to the spigot. He washed quickly. The trailer might have been secluded from the road, but it still didn’t feel quite right, being all naked and exposed like this. He scurried inside and changed into pajamas as fast as he could. Not only did he feel like he had someone’s eyes on him the whole time he was outside, but the cold shower was more bracing than anyone deserved in the waning light.

Of course, the trailer wasn’t just lacking in running water. It lacked electricity, too. As the sun began to dip below the horizon, Dean lit a couple of Coleman lanterns. Sam repressed a groan. Dad was so not going to want to hear his thoughts about living without electricity. “Dad’s going out,” Dean informed him, glancing significantly at the closed bedroom door. “Case research.”

Sam bit back a comment about how the “case research” was more likely to involve a case of Schlitz than anything else. That wall was thin, after all, and comments like that didn’t endear him to Dean anymore than they endeared him to their father. “We’re staying here?”

“Of course.” Dean smirked at him. “He’s got to get the lay of the land and everything. Figure out the best way to keep us safe. You know that.” He swatted the back of Sam’s head, but gently, almost affectionately. “You and me are going to have a quiet evening in. You’re probably pretty tired anyway, I know you didn’t sleep well last night.”

Sam shifted. “That obvious?”

“Dude. We shared a bed. I think my bruises have bruises.” The elder Winchester grimaced. “Only ten year old I know who dreams in friggin’ Latin, dude.”

Sam hung his head. “Sorry.”

“Ain’t like you can help it. Maybe talking about it would help?”

The boy glanced at the closed door to the bedroom. Somehow he doubted that the content of his dreams would make his father any more enthusiastic about him. He could maybe wait until Dad left, but anything he said would just make its way back to Dad “for his own good.” “Probably not. They’re just dreams, Dean. They don’t mean anything. I mean, you dreaming about Pamela Anderson every night doesn’t mean you’re going to get with her, right?”

Dean blushed scarlet. “How do you even know about that?”

“Dude. We shared a bed,” Sam deflected with a smirk. He toned it back quickly, though. “I’ll be fine, Dean. They’re just dreams.”

The door opened. Their father emerged, looking a little more crisp and put-together than his normal hunter self. “Don’t wait up,” he directed. “We’re still training tomorrow, no matter how late the two of you stay up, so I’d get to bed early if I were you.” He left the trailer, his only salutation being “Look out for Sammy!” as the door swung shut behind him.

Dean locked the door as Sam rolled out his bedroll on the ground. “What are you doing?” the elder Winchester demanded. “Dad said to sleep on the couch!”

Sam lay down on his roll. He knew that the floor was clean. He’d seen to it himself, after all. He probably made it dirty just by putting his body on it; good thing he had the bedroll between it and him. “The couch won’t fit both of us, Dean. He thinks we’re four and one still. You’re fourteen, you’re already five foot seven! You stay on the couch, I’m fine down here.”

Dean shook his head and went to turn out the Coleman lanterns. “This sucks,” he admitted as they heard the Impala rumble away. “There isn’t even a TV. How are we supposed to watch porn if there isn’t a TV?”

“Silver lining, I guess,” Sam commented. “Hey, Dean?”

“Your time’s coming, squirt. Just you wait. There’s gonna come a day when you’re not gonna be able to get enough of the stuff, and you’re gonna dream about Pam Anderson, and, and –“

Sam had heard such things mentioned in health class, although not in quite such terms. He privately doubted that they applied to him. “Dean, why are we really here?”

Dean paused in the middle of his pubescent rant. “Sammy, you heard Dad. He doesn’t want you to know that stuff until you’ve shown that you can be trusted to follow orders and that you trust him.”

“You mean like with Trotter Head? Or with that tulpa back in Bardstown?” Sam challenged. He fought to keep his tone calm and even, but his cheeks burned with humiliation. Had neither of them figured out that he had a brain yet? That trying to hide things from him just made him more determined to find the truth?

“It’s not like that, Sammy. He needs to know that he can trust you, and he can’t trust you if you question everything. In our line of work it’s absolutely vital that we be ready to obey him without hesitation. You hesitate. You don’t trust him, so he can’t trust you. It’s that simple. You need to learn to trust him.”

“So the way he teaches me to trust him is by hiding things from me,” Sam observed flatly.

“Exactly,” Dean beamed.

In the dark, his brother couldn’t see him cover his face with his hands. “Okay,” Sam said slowly and carefully. “But if I don’t know what’s going on, how am I supposed to know what to do if there’s an emergency? Like, what if we get separated and I have to actually think for myself?”

“Never gonna happen, Sammy,” Dean told him confidently. “You’re always gonna have me or Dad around to tell you what you need to know.”

Sam wanted to punch something, but that wouldn’t get him what he needed. “Remember who it was that figured out what was going on in Bardstown? Maybe it’s something that Dad hasn’t seen before. We made a good team there, Dean. I mean, you and me. We found the case, we researched the case, we figured out what it was and we killed the monster.”

“Okay but we can’t keep going around Dad like that. He’s not going to be able to –“

“Trust us, right,” Sam finished. “But we can make it easier for him to find the right information, right? And he never even has to know that I was involved. All we’re doing is keeping him safe, Dean.” Sam closed his eyes against the hot tears of frustration.

Dean fell silent for a moment. “A bunch of people have been dying,” he told his brother then. “They’ve been dying bloody and they’ve been dying ugly. Can’t figure out why. Dad’s thinking cursed object maybe, could be vengeful spirit. This place is old as dirt, wouldn’t surprise me.”

“Did the victims have anything in common?” Sam wanted to know.

“You know everything I know.” He rolled over. “If we find anything I’ll find a way to let Dad know, but you see how it is here Sammy. I mean, we’re miles away from anything and we don’t even have electricity. There’s not supposed to be any official record of our being here so you can’t get a library card. I don’t think this is a case you get to just steal from Dad.”

Sam bristled at the accusation. He’d never stolen a case from their father. He just had information that their father hadn’t. It wasn’t his fault that Dad got all hung up on ideas of who was in charge instead of getting the job done. “Whatever, jerk.”

“You’re welcome, bitch.”

Dad came home at about two thirty in the morning. How he’d gotten the Impala home was anyone’s guess, given that he smelled like a distillery and swayed on his feet, but he came home. Sam had laid out his bedroll carefully so as not to be in his father’s path, but John still looked down at him and gave a little snort of contempt before staggering back to the bedroom.

Dad woke them bright and early the next morning, although “bright” might have been an overstatement. While the sun had beat down on them without mercy the day before, the humidity came to a head today and it rained. This in no way inhibited their father’s need to make them run, of course. All three Winchesters trotted along the hilly roads before returning to the trailer, where they were permitted to exchange their sodden clothing for dry before cleaning the weapons for the day.

Sam found himself dropped off to take care of laundry at the town’s one laundromat. Truth be told, it was well past time to take care of it, but he couldn’t shake the suspicion that he was being gotten out of the way while their father confided in Dean.

It shouldn’t bother him, he thought as he dutifully sorted everything by color. He found the blankets and pillows and got them into the machines too – they had plenty of quarters and it had been a while since any of those had been done. The exclusion shouldn’t bother him, because it wasn’t like he liked hunting. He hated hunting. He hated the danger, he hated the insecurity, he hated the constant mobility. He didn’t want to be a part of their stupid “family business” so he shouldn’t feel bad about his exclusion from all but the “bait” part of it.

At the same time, he’d be lying if he said that the exclusion didn’t chafe. If he was going to be forced into the life, and he couldn’t see any way out that didn’t involve getting killed, he hated the fact that he wasn’t allowed to be of any value. He knew he was unclean, but come on; even Ted Bundy was making himself useful from prison! Why couldn’t Sam have something to offer, too?

And those things that Dean had said – those hurt almost as much. Dad needed to know that he could trust Sam to never think for himself, even when Dad was wrong? Sam was always going to have Dad or Dean to do the thinking for him? Was this really all that there was to life, or at least to his life? Subservient to someone else, never to have anything to offer? Doing the laundry while other people did the thinking?

“A boy your age should be in school.”

The voice came from behind him. Sam whirled around, hands up, and found himself face to face with a woman. She stood at average height, with long, gray braids by the sides of her head, and she looked down at him with a mixture of distrust and consternation. “Sorry, ma’am. We only got to town yesterday, and since the school year ends next week I don’t think my father thought there was much point, you know?” He put on his best “charming” face, let his dimples show through and all, and hoped like hell that it worked.

Her face softened. Marginally. “Don’t you think you’d have better waited to move until the school year was over?”

He kind of wondered who she might be, that she had the time to sit there in the laundromat on a weekday morning and criticize other people’s parenting choices, but he just shrugged. “Have to do what the job wants, ma’am. I’m sure he’d rather have kept us in school a while longer, but sometimes it can’t be about what the kids want.” He gave an apologetic shrug. In reality, his father hadn’t bothered to put him back into school after they left Bardstown, but he didn’t think that would help his cause at all.

“I suppose. Children’s education should always take precedence. Then they can get jobs, someday, that don’t require them to neglect their own children.” Sam just smiled blandly. He knew he wasn’t having any children. “I work for the library, young man. We’ve got a program for children your age starting up as soon as school lets out; it runs on Tuesdays and Thursdays. You don’t even need a library card to participate.”

Sam tried not to get too excited. After all, what kind of library program didn’t require the use of a library card? “So what goes on at this program?” he asked.

“Whatever the students want, for the most part. We have movies and board games, and those who want to can continue with subjects that interested them in school or explore areas of interest.” She smiled, and for a moment she was beautiful. “It’s mostly to give the kids around here something to do during the summer months that isn’t destructive. Options can be kind of limited, I’m afraid.”

Sam thought about digging up a grave and burning some poor man’s bones, as he’d done in West Virginia. “I can see where that would be the case. I’ll see what my father says. He’s not very big on outsiders.”

“Hm. Well, that’s all you can do.” She reached into her bag – a cavernous thing; Sam wondered what other secrets she might be hiding inside – and pulled out a flier on light blue paper. “Maybe this will help.”

Eventually the laundry was done, although the underpowered dryers took their time about it. It wouldn’t take much to fix them, but he supposed that wouldn’t make them any money. He sat and waited for Dad and Dean to come pick him up, which took about an hour and a half after he finished with the laundry. They were probably doing something very important, he reasoned. They did come to get him eventually, though, and Dean even helped him to load the laundry into the car. “How did we managed to generate this much dirty laundry?” he groused.

“We haven’t done laundry in weeks, Dean,” Sam retorted. “It builds up. If you wash it more often, you don’t have these huge piles.”

“There are more important things in life than washing clothes, boy,” John growled from the front seat.

“Apparently not for me,” Sam retorted without thinking. Dean froze. “Or did you think I was too stupid to notice that you both came back covered in mud?”

“Too stupid to keep your mouth shut,” their father snarled, putting the car into drive and pulling out onto the road. The rest of the ride back to the trailer was conducted in silence.

Dad insisted that Sam unpack the laundry and put it away by himself, as punishment for his “smart mouth.” After that he had two hundred knuckle pushups to do before he was allowed to deal with the mud and grime that they’d tracked all over the floor. At least the roof seemed to be holding, he thought grimly. John and Dean looked over some paperwork while Sam cleaned and scrubbed. Dinner consisted of pasta, made by Dean, and then John went out to do more “research” as the boys went to bed again.

“Did you have to mouth off to him again, Sammy,” Dean sighed. “He’d probably have been impressed with how you did the laundry if you hadn’t have mouthed off.”

Sam rolled his eyes. John would not have been impressed with how he did the laundry. John did not care about the laundry. If he ran out of clean underwear, John would just steal more until it became convenient to wash it. “Like it wasn’t obvious that he just wanted me out of the way,” Sam scoffed. “He should just send me off to live with Pastor Jim if I’m such a problem for him.”

Dean grabbed his arm, hard enough to bruise. “Don’t you ever talk like that, Sammy. You know better. We’re family. We stick together. I can’t keep you safe if you’re with Pastor Jim.”

“You can’t keep me safe if I’m with Dad, either. He won’t let you.”

His brother shook him before letting him go. “That’s all he wants, Sammy. All he wants is to keep you safe. You’re just too pig-headed to see it.”

Sam rolled his eyes. If John Winchester were to be presented with an opportunity to get his shameful youngest safely killed he’d take it, no questions asked. God forbid that he should let Sam just go live safely someplace else, though. Not that Sam would be comfortable doing that, not without Dean. What good was safety to him if Dean wasn’t with him? “They’re having a program at the library over the summer,” he told Dean after a few moments.

“So?”

“So it’s a good place to dump me so you and Dad can go do important stuff without me,” Sam pointed out reasonably. “I know Dad won’t let me get an actual library card, but it’s a good way to keep me out of the way and it’s a good way to get me into the library and have them used to seeing me around so that I can be in there and looking things up for you if you need it.”

Dean was quiet for so long that Sam almost thought he’d fallen asleep, except he knew how Dean breathed when he slept and that wasn’t it. “Dad won’t go for it,” he said finally. “But I’ll see what he says.”

Dad came home that night, smelling worse than he had the night before. He didn’t even pause to contemplate his sons, just staggered to the back and passed out without getting changed or closing the door. He stayed asleep the next morning, too, even through Dean’s quiet preparation of coffee and eggs. They did not run; the rain was too extreme even for that.

Dean brought their father a beer and some dry toast when he woke up at noon. Sam tried to stay out of the way as much as possible. He had a book courtesy of the Frazier’s Bottom Public Library, and he kept to a vaguely lit corner of the trailer and tried not to attract notice once he’d done as much cleaning as he could. Instead, he let Dean assess their father’s mental state and approach him when the time was right.

That time turned out to be over dinner. “Hey, Dad. I’ve been wanting to talk to you. There’s this, uh, program, for kids Sammy’s age at the library in town.”

John glared at him. “I thought I made it clear. No official record of our presence. That means no library card, no programs, no anything.”

Dean swallowed. “It says here that it’s ‘drop-in,’ which means that he doesn’t have to sign up for anything. He’ll just show up on Tuesdays and Thursdays, doesn’t even have to be every Tuesday and Thursday. It would get him out of the house, give him someplace to go and something to do.”

The eldest Winchester let out an exasperated sigh. “The whole point of hiding out up here this summer, Dean, was to realign his priorities. He spends too much time thinking about things other than this family, other than the hunt. Other than Mary. We need to make sure that Mary’s the only thing on his mind, not school or books or dumb movies. He’s already too distracted by crap.” He sighed. “But there is a job, and it’s not like he’s any use. You make damn sure that he does his training every day, and that his Latin doesn’t suffer because of all of this… frippery.”

Sam tried hard to hide his elation. On the one hand, his father was talking as though Sam wasn’t right there in the room. Like he didn’t even see Sam. Like he’d always planned to hide Sam away, isolate him in some kind of twisted way to brainwash Sam into turning into an obsessed freak like him. That chilled him, chilled him to his very bones.

On the other hand, he was going to get to go to the library program. He was going to be allowed to spend two days per week around other people. He might have gotten permission because he was in the way and useless, but he’d gotten permission nevertheless. He was determined to make the most of it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Winchesters discover that they aren't looking for a vengeful spirit after all. Sam goes to the library.

  


Sam took to his training with vigor for the next week and a half. His father had told Dean that he would be allowed to go to the library program, but that didn’t mean that permission wouldn’t be rescinded the moment that he made himself too inconvenient or the second that he did something to prove to his father that he was too disobedient to be allowed out in public. He couldn’t summon anything that resembled enthusiasm for training, but he showed up and didn’t try to avoid the workouts even when they left him with bruises that covered his arm or with half of his body numb in the mud.

He didn’t think it had any effect on his father’s opinion of him. John complained about his slowness – “How do you think you’re going to back us up and watch your brother’s back if you can’t even keep up with him on the simplest run, boy?” – and he complained about his weakness –“You call that a punch? I’ve had girls slap me harder than that!” If anything, he pushed Sam further. Instead of five-mile runs every morning he demanded ten. Instead of an hour of strength training he wanted an hour and a half. It wasn’t enough for Sam to spar with Dean, Sam had to spar with John too, and John didn’t go easy on him. 

Shooting practice still had to happen, too, and they had to take even more time with it than normal. “After all, it’s not like you can hit even a stationary target with a bow, never mind a moving target.”

Sam bit back on the obvious retort – the bow had a heavier pull than he was, he shouldn’t even be able to draw it never mind be able to shoot straight. It wouldn’t get him anywhere, and he knew he had something to lose by it. He took his required shots and he fired the guns his father demanded the required number of times, and when he was done he stood off to the side and didn’t move a muscle while his brother and his father had their fun.

“What kind of a freak doesn’t want to shoot guns at ten years old?” John sneered. 

“Maybe he’s just a late bloomer, Dad,” Dean tried, glancing at Sam.

“No room for late bloomers in this army, boy,” John snapped. 

Sam supposed that he should be happy. At least John was talking about him like he was part of “his Army” again, instead of like some useless piece of luggage. 

John still went out most nights, although not all. He didn’t stumble back home every night, though. Some nights he seemed to be sober, coming in grim-faced and filthy to stare at his sons by flashlight. Dean never woke when their father came home. Sam pretended to be asleep. 

Finally, the first Tuesday of the summer break came. John drove Sam to the town library, an ancient stone building right in the center of Tully with windows so warped that they might have been original to the building. “Hope you remembered the way, boy,” John grumbled from behind sunglasses, despite the overcast day. “Your brother and I have too much work to do to come pick your spoiled ass up from the damn library.”

“Of course, sir. Bye, Dean.” He closed the door behind him and raced up the steps to the front entrance. 

The summer program was meeting in the children’s section, of course. Sam found himself slowing as he approached the brightly painted room. What was he thinking? He didn’t belong here. He was already too much of a freak for something like this. On a day like today – sunny, and already about eighty-five at nine o’clock in the morning – he had to wear a long-sleeved flannel to cover up the bruising on his arms and it wasn’t even like he owned shorts. Not shorts that he could wear outside, anyway. The other kids were going to laugh at him, standing there in clothes that hadn’t been new when they’d belonged to Dean. 

He stuck his head into the room. There were maybe nine other kids in there, six girls and three boys, and he wasn’t the only one in obvious hand-me-downs. Two women – probably late teens or early twenties, he thought – stood at opposite sides of the room; both of them turned to look at him now. One of them, with golden hair and green eyes, he even recognized as the girl from the grocery store. She gave him a welcoming smile. “Hey, now, I’ve seen you before. Your family just moved to town, right?”

Sam nodded, uncomfortable with so many eyes on him. No matter how often he went through the New Kid Ritual, he never got comfortable with it. 

“Well, welcome to Tully. I’m Star, this is Chantal, and we’re the counselors here at Camp Library.” Some of the kids tittered. “Hey, it’s got a better sound to it than ‘Rural Onondaga County Library Enrichment Program.” Sam had to admit that she had a point. “What’s your name?”

“Sam,” he admitted. 

“Okay, Sam. Why don’t you make yourself comfortable? We’re going to hang out for a little while and then at ten we’re going to head down into one of the conference rooms to watch Star Wars.” 

“What should I do?” the boy murmured, looking around. 

“Just grab a book or a magazine or whatever. If you’re interested in crafts or whatever we can talk about that after lunch, okay?” Chantal beamed at him. 

Sam cast about for a place to sit. The three boys had a table to themselves, but they had a distinctly unwelcoming look to them, the kind that came with being larger than Sam and knowing it. It wasn’t that Sam couldn’t handle himself, it was that he knew how it would go for him if he did. He found a seat to himself over in a corner, near the section marked “YA.” He’d find something in the more serious history section the next time.

It didn’t take long for someone to slide into the seat next to him. He tensed and looked up, but the girl didn’t seem to be poised to attack. She grinned at him and held out a freckled hand. “Hi,” she greeted. “My name’s Susan.” 

“Sam,” he introduced, shaking the hand. The girl’s hand had an impressive array of calluses he hadn’t found on many girls, not since Lancaster County anyway. “Pleased to meet you.” 

“Same here,” she told him, tossing a red braid behind her head. “We don’t get a lot of people moving to Tully.” 

He squirmed. “I guess my dad got a job here or something. I don’t know how long we’ll be staying. It seems nice enough though. Pretty.” 

“Oh, there isn’t anyplace in the world as pretty as Central New York,” she told him with the certainty of religious conviction. “Everyone knows that. Where did you come here from?”

“Uh, West Virginia. We move around a lot though. I think I’ve lived in thirty-six of the lower forty-eight states, and I’m only ten.” 

“That’s pretty impressive,” she said with a low whistle. “Do you have a favorite?”

“It’s hard to say,” he had to confess. “There’s good things and bad things about all of them, but we don’t really go to any of them for fun and there are some of them that I don’t remember at all. I think I was probably born in Kansas, but I don’t remember it. I don’t remember much about Colorado or Nebraska either. South Dakota is supposed to be nice, but everything I remember is pretty scary and the guy we stayed with owns a junkyard so we didn’t exactly get to see the ‘pretty’ parts.” He made himself smile a little bit. Maybe if he didn’t remember the thing with the truck driver, or with Silas, he wouldn’t remember Bobby Singer’s place the way he did. “I like Minnesota, but that’s because we’ve got someone there who lets me read as much as I want. I don’t really notice if the area is pretty or not.” 

Susan laughed at him. “So I guess the library is kind of your natural environment?”

“I guess. What about you?”

She rolled her eyes. “Sure, I like to read, but I’m not, like, a bookworm. My sister’s Star and our moms decided that the best way to keep me out of trouble on the farm was to send me with her to the library thing while she worked. I’d rather be playing outside. I like to run and climb trees, get into stuff. Explore, you know?”

He nodded. “That stuff’s okay. My dad’s really into that stuff, so getting to come here and read is kind of like a treat for me.” He paused. “You’ve got two moms?”

She laughed again. “More like five. We all live together on the farm. But Star and I have the same mom, like, from birth too. It’s a nice way to live. Someone’s always got the time to talk to you or play with you.” 

Sam took a second to wonder what it might be like to have five or six dads, to always have someone with the time to devote attention to him and his shortcomings. “How do you live with that?”

He knew he’d made a mistake when she tilted her head at him. “What do you mean?” 

“Nothing, nothing,” he backtracked. “It’s nothing. Is the library well furnished?”

She hesitated for a moment. It was clear that she wanted to say something, but she followed his lead. “Um. Well, they don’t have a lot of girly things, but I think that they have plenty of grown-up things in that section. My moms always seem to find what they like.” 

“What do they usually like to read?” Somehow Sam didn’t think he’d have much interest in “girly stuff” from the kids’ section, although he certainly wasn’t above reading a princess book if that was what he could get his hands on. 

“Hey, Suze,” Star interrupted, ruffling her little sister’s hair. “I see you’re making a new friend. Sam, how’re you holding up?”

“I’m doing okay,” he admitted. “Um. What if we want to read something that’s not in the children’s section?”

She blinked. “I’m sure that would be okay. It’s not like library cards have age restrictions on them.” 

He cleared his throat. “Yeah, um. I’m not sure we’re going to be around long enough to get a library card. My dad’s job – we move around a lot.” He looked down.

She didn’t miss a beat. She didn’t even look like she felt sorry for him. “Okay. Well, I’m pretty sure we can put a book on hold for you. That shouldn’t be a problem, if you need to. After lunch you can go ahead and look around in the stacks for a while. Just check in every half hour or so, okay?” Perfect teeth flashed from behind pink lips.

Why couldn’t Dean get crushes on a woman like this? 

“Thanks, Miss Star,” he blushed. 

“It’s just Star, Sam. This isn’t school. It’s supposed to be fun for all of us, okay?” She glanced at the time. “I don’t think we’re likely to get anyone else today. What do you say we start talking about the movie?” She stood up.

Sam pulled out a notebook and got ready to take notes. “What are you doing?” Susan hissed. 

“Trying to learn something?” he hissed back.

“It’s summer! It’s not for learning anything,” she marveled.

“Okay, everyone. Today we’re going to be watching Star Wars. It’s the first of three movies in a series – a trilogy. Has anyone ever seen any of these movies before?” A couple of the boys had, but most of the other kids hadn’t. Sam hadn’t either, although he knew his father and brother both had. They talked about it all the time. 

Between Star and Chantal, they talked about what to expect from the movie. Then they all got marched downstairs to sit and watch the classic on a pull-down screen. Sam had to admit he was entranced. Poor Luke had been just going about his business when literally everyone he’d ever loved had been killed. All he had left was this old man – who struck Sam as being kind of creepy, to be honest – and a couple of robots. Also the poor guy got stuck with supernatural powers, and anything like that made you a monster. Dad said so, Dean said so, and Luke was lucky that they didn’t have hunters in his world because if they did the poor kid would have to dodge hunters as well as the empire. 

He also had to go run around with Han Solo, and Han Solo reminded Sam of Dean but without being an actual big brother. 

He tried to take notes without writing anything incriminating down. The wookie, Chewbacca, might have been his favorite character. Well, maybe the wookie. Maybe Princess Leia. She wasn’t any kind of fairy tale princess. She looked danger in the eye, she stood up for herself and her people, and she grabbed a gun and fought for herself. She didn’t just sit there and wave her arms around helplessly the way TV and movie writers made girls do so much of the time. He’d never met a girl who did that kind of stuff in real life, the helpless flailing, but TV writers seemed to be pretty sure about it. 

After the movie they had lunch. Sam didn’t expect that he’d be hungry, he wasn’t usually very good at food, but when Star put that grilled chicken salad in front of him his mouth started watering. “These are for us?” he asked, incredulous.

“Yeah, some stupid do-gooder gave the town a grant to serve ‘healthy’ lunches,” sulked one of the boys. Sam thought he’d heard someone call him Donny. “Now whenever we do a program like this we have to eat salads and celery instead of burgers and chips and it sucks.” 

Sam couldn’t summon up the slightest bit of sympathy. He just opened up his container and dove right in. When Donny saw him cleaning out the plastic shell, his eyes widened and he passed his half-eaten salad over to Sam. “Here. I hate lettuce.” 

Sam knew that he should say no, that charity was something that Winchesters should be above, but this wasn’t charity. This was normal, a boy who hated something giving his surplus to someone who loved it. A redistribution of the lettuce, so to speak. He accepted it with gusto, passing his milk on to the boy beside him. 

They talked about the movie as they ate. Chantal got the conversation off to a start by asking that they go around and say who their favorite character was. Most people declared either for Luke or for Han, which was unsurprising. One girl declared for R2D2, and another for Darth Vader. When they got to Sam, Sam admitted that his was Princess Leia. This got him roundly mocked, by girls as well as boys, but Star silenced them all and asked Sam to explain himself. 

“She’s not intimidated by anyone,” he told them. “Even when she was scared, she didn’t let them intimidate her. She didn’t let them break her. She grabbed a gun and fought too, she didn’t let Han Solo push her around. She told them when they were being stupid and even though she was young she was part of planning the assault on the Death Star. That means that she was considered smart, that her intelligence was valued. She was just as important, just as key to winning those fights, as the guys were. Without her they never would have gotten out of the Death Star alive.” 

One corner of Star’s mouth quirked up. “That’s a good point, Sam. Leia’s contribution to the fight gets overlooked, but she was just as important as Luke or Han. And she got to be the clever one while she did it. Out of everyone on that ship somehow it’s the teenaged girl who figures out that they’re too short to be stormtroopers?” The other kids laughed, and they moved around to questions about the movie. 

One of the boys wanted to know how lightsabers worked. He found himself directed to the science section, to look up lasers and how a laser could be used to cut. The other boy wanted to know about robots, as did a couple of the girls. They found themselves encouraged to go study robotics. Two other girls had questions about the cultures on Tattooine, the Sand People and the Jawas, so they got sent off to look up different desert-dwelling cultures. The other girls were fascinated by the hovercraft; they had to know how to make one for themselves. Sam privately thought that might be more of a challenge than a couple of days’ research in a rural public library could provide, but they got sent into the stacks nevertheless. 

Sam’s question was a little harder. “So,” he asked, alone with the counselors. “Luke had abilities, right? I mean, powers, senses, beyond what normal humans could do.” 

Chantal winced at his grammar, but she nodded. “Go on.” 

He resolved to do better but pressed on with his question. “Was Luke human?”

Both of the teens startled at the question. “Was he human?” Star repeated. “What do you mean, was he human?”

“Well, I mean, my dad says that any kind of powers or anything like that, anything beyond what a normal person can do, that would have to come from the devil, right?” He was fudging here. Dad didn’t necessarily believe in the devil, but he did believe in evil and in Hell. 

“Your father must be very religious,” Chantal told him as Star took his hand.

“Look, Sam,” the green-eyed girl said, getting closer to his height so she could meet his eyes. “If an athlete – say, a baseball player – got a higher batting average than anyone else, would that be from the devil?”

“Not necessarily. I mean, it could be just from practice. Anyone can practice really hard and get really good.” Sam paused. 

“Not everyone,” she corrected him. “Some people just have a natural talent that others don’t. Joe DiMaggio just had a natural talent. So did Reggie Jackson. No one else could reach what they’d done, and they were definitely human.” 

“Okay, but most people can still hit a ball. Maybe not as well, but they can still hit a ball. Most people can’t hit a ball with their mind.” Sam forced a grin. “I mean, I know it’s not real, it’s just a movie.” 

“But it’s important to remember that everyone’s got different talents, and everyone’s got different beliefs. Not all abilities and talents and beliefs that come from a different framework than the one we grew up with necessarily come from the Devil.” She offered him a smile, although her eyes still seemed troubled. 

“Okay,” he lied. 

“You had a specific subject you wanted to research when you came in here, am I right?” Chantal prodded.

“Not really. I guess I just wanted to know more about the area.” He shrugged.

“How about if you go look up some books about local connections to the Underground Railroad?” Star suggested. “Central New York had a lot of connections with the Underground Railroad; I’m pretty sure you’ll find something you’ll like. I’ll make sure we hold it for you.”

Sam found a book almost immediately, tracing routes through Onondaga County right through the end of the Civil War. The book absorbed him completely and he took careful, detailed notes as he read, right up until the day came to a close.

By the time five o’clock rolled around Star seemed to have forgotten her distress at his question, and she took his book and marked his place and gave it to the counter staff to hold for “the summer program.” That would satisfy Dad’s requirement that there be no official record of his attendance, Sam thought happily. All in all it had been a good day and he had a spring in his step throughout the long walk back out to the trailer. 

Dad and Dean were waiting for him when he got home. “Took you long enough,” Dad snarled. “Your brother and I were waiting on you! Where have you been? That thing was supposed to be over at five!”

“It was over at five, sir,” Sam replied. “The library is six miles away.”

“You couldn’t have run?” the patriarch spat. “You couldn’t have put a little bit of effort into getting home to your family? There’s been another death and your brother and I’ve been sitting here with our thumbs up our asses waiting for you when we could have been out looking for the cause of death, or looking for the killer! One hundred knuckle push-ups, now!”

Sam sighed and got down onto the ground to obey. He could object; he shouldn’t be punished for taking the time to walk home when there had been no other option given. It wasn’t as though he should have known to run home, after all. Objections floated to the tip of his tongue, but one look at his brother’s face and they all floated away. He could hold back, he could do it for Dean. Dean had gotten him permission to go to the library in the first place, after all. 

His arms trembled by the end of the exercise, and his cheeks burned with humiliation, but he kept his mouth shut and stood to attention at the end. His father looked him in the eye at the end of it. “You be here when we need you to be here. Do you understand me, boy?” 

Sam opened his mouth to retort, but Dean stepped on his foot. “Sir,” he said instead. 

“The only thing for you is this family. Everything else is a distraction. If the distractions are too much for you – if we can’t trust you to be where we need you when we need you – then we’ll have to cut out the distractions,” John continued, stepping into Sam’s space. 

The boy clenched his hands into fists. Dean intervened. “So, Dad. About that body?”

John shook himself out of his rage. “Right. Let’s go see what we can find out. Get in the car, Dean.” 

“What about Sammy, sir?” Dean jerked his head at his brother. “Do you want to bring him along?”

John rubbed his chin. “I don’t know. I don’t think we can trust him not to take off. At the same time, something’s out there killing people and I don’t trust him by himself. He’d better come along.” 

Sam rolled his eyes. He’d rather stay in the trailer, safely behind salt lines, than go out into a world where ghosts took aim at the living. Still, he made no complaint as he clambered into the backseat and slouched down. 

The victim had been killed in Preble, a small town just a little way down Route 81 from Tully. It wasn’t much of a town, Sam thought, and as the Impala wound its way toward the death site he couldn’t help but think that this probably wasn’t much of a case. He didn’t have a lot of faith in his father’s ability to tease out the wheat from the chaff when it came to the supernatural. Sure he found cases, real cases of the supernatural. He found plenty of cases where people had simply died of natural causes, too, or just succumbed to plain old generic murder. Not every death had to come from some hell-driven source; sometimes people just sucked, or sometimes life did. 

When they got to the site, which had been cleared by the police as natural causes already, Sam figured that this would be just another case of the latter. The guy had died at an ice cream shop, one foot in his pickup truck and one foot out. The woman behind the counter hadn’t seen anything like it in all her years, she didn’t mind telling them. Bees had just swarmed up from out of nowhere, thousands of the little bastards, and stung him like there was no tomorrow. He’d screamed a few times, but no one could get near him. “On account of the bees, see,” she pointed out, utterly unperturbed by the fact that a man had died. When life was extinguished they’d flown away again, scattered to the four winds.

Authorities hadn’t gotten around to towing the truck yet. As Dad talked to the ice cream woman Sam elbowed Dean and beckoned to him, bringing him over to the truck. Maybe he’d brought a bee’s nest over in his truck or something? He’d heard sometimes wasps built nests in people’s side mirrors or something; maybe he could find some sign of it in the undercarriage. “Keep a lookout for me,” he urged his brother, and got down onto the ground.

“Oh my God, Sammy, that’s just gross, this is a public parking lot!” Dean skeeved. “People probably peed there!”

Sam scanned the underbelly of the large, hefty pickup truck. “I don’t see a bee’s nest. And who seriously just pees in the middle of a parking lot, Dean? That’s gross. You’re gross.”

“Sometimes you’ve just got to go, Sammy, especially if you’ve been in the car for a really long time. Come on, man, get up. Dad’s going to see!” All Sam could see of his brother were his feet, but he seemed to be hopping from foot to foot.

Sam took another look and spotted something small out of the corner of his eye. It looked like a little bag, maybe made out of flannel or something. “I found something, Dean, but it doesn’t seem to have much to do with bees. Get me something to pick it up with.” 

Dean’s face appeared next to his, concerns about parking lot hygiene lost. “What is it, Sammy?”

Sam pointed. “That.”

Dean paled. “That? Don’t touch that. But the good news is that Dad’s definitely going to want to see it.” 

Their father did want to see it. When he saw it, he picked it up with a piece of grimy silk that he had in his pocket. “I’m not exactly thrilled about you going off on your own, boy, and we’ll talk about that later, but it’s good that your brother stopped you from touching it.”

“What is it?” Sam ignored the implied criticism. He knew they’d “talk about it” later. He knew that no matter what he’d done, what he’d found, he’d be found at fault somehow. 

John glared at the perceived disrespect. “It’s a hex bag. This is no vengeful spirit, boys. We’re dealing with witches.” 

Dean sprang back. “Witches?” he hissed, just barely remembering to keep his voice down. “Aw, man! I hate witches!”

Sam rolled his eyes. “You don’t know anything about witches, dumbass.” 

“I know I don’t like ‘em, bitch!”

“Jerk!”

“Stow it, boys,” John rumbled. “I’ve got to go buy you some ice cream so this wacky old broad doesn’t realize anything’s up.” 

Sam frowned after his father. Somehow “wacky old broad” didn’t seem like a great way to talk about someone, especially when they’d been so helpful with the information, but he hadn’t started puberty yet and he was a “late bloomer” or whatever so maybe he would understand that someday. Dean didn’t seem to be at all troubled by it, and they both got ice cream so Sam kept his mouth shut. 

John went out that night. Sam wasn’t surprised. He lay on his bedroll on the floor, stomach cramping, and turned to his brother as soon as he heard the Impala speed away. “Hey Dean?”

“What is it, Sammy?” 

“What do you know about witches?”

The elder Winchester sighed. “What do you want to know about witches for, Sammy? You thinking of kissing one?”

He screwed up his face, not that Dean could see. He couldn’t imagine ever kissing a girl, even if it was just for luck like Leia had kissed Luke in the movie. “Well, if we’re supposed to be fighting witches I think that I should know what they’re like, don’t you?”

Dean groaned. “Geez, you’re toxic tonight. If Dad wants you to know he’ll tell you, okay?” 

“But what if I find a witch and I don’t know it?” He hissed out a long, slow breath as his stomach gave an exceptionally painful objection to something he’d eaten. “How am I supposed to know?”

“Sammy, it’s not like I know a lot either, okay? I mean, Dad doesn’t tell me until I need to know either, you know? And I doubt that you’re ever going to be on your own for this case. I mean, Dad’s probably not even going to let me come out with him on this. Witches are dangerous things, Sammy.” Dean sighed. “I could totally take one, of course. It’s just that Dad won’t let me. He makes me stay here and take care of you.”

“I’m not a baby, I can take care of myself just fine.”

“Sure you can, Sam. Can’t even shoot a bow straight.” 

“I could if it were a bow sized for me. They make those, you know.” He rolled over, hoping that the cramping would abate if his position changed. It didn’t. “What about the witches, Dean? Come on. I need to know.”

Dean sighed. “We need to open a window in here.”

“Can’t. It would break the salt lines,” Sam retorted. “What do they look like?”

“They look like people, I guess. I mean they can probably do some kind of spell to make themselves look like anything, but for the most part they just look like people. They all say that they do ‘natural’ magic, just dancin’ with the moon and crap, but they’re full of shit. They’re getting their power by making deals with dark forces, Sammy, and don’t you forget it.”

He thought about Luke Skywalker. “Like the Jedi?”

“What? No, dude. The Jedi are awesome. They’re the good guys.” Dean squirmed on the couch. “But the Jedi aren’t real. Nobody just has powers that are good and even some of the Jedi went bad. Look at Darth Vader.” 

Sam sat up. Nausea shot through him and he regretted it. “What?”

“Oh. Whoops. I can’t believe we haven’t made you sit down and watch the rest of those movies.” Dean chuckled. “Well, sorry about that.”

“We’re going to watch Empire next week,” the younger brother grumped, flopping back down. 

“But yeah, think about it like that. Ultimately it all comes from evil, and we can’t take the chance that anyone with any kind of magic or powers isn’t going to go Vader on us at some point. They’re still supernatural, Sammy, and if it’s supernatural, we kill it. Witches especially, because they made an unholy deal.”

The boy scoffed. “Like you’d know from holy. You dumped vodka into the holy water at Pastor Jim’s the last time we were there.”

“I thought it was a harmless prank, Sammy.” Sam couldn’t see his brother, but he could hear the affected innocence in his tone. He could just imagine the angelic pose the teen was adopting, even now. “How was I supposed to know that the priest had no sense of humor?”

“He hosts AA meetings there, Dean!” Sam squawked. “Anyway, what’s so bad about witches? Do they all get power from evil deals?”

“Pretty much. We can’t take the chance that this one or that one didn’t. Like I said, they’ll go darkside eventually. Besides, they’re just… they’re gross, alright?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well…” Dean squirmed again. “I mean, a lot of their spells need, like, stuff.”

“Stuff?” Sam raised his eyebrows. “Eye of newt, stuff like that?”

“Sometimes. And, like, uh…” He dropped his voice. “Bodily fluids.” 

“Oh.” Sam inched further away from his brother. “Gross!”

“I’m telling you, Sammy. They’re downright unsanitary, leaving their specimens all over the place like that.”

Sam reserved comment. He knew that Dean could be fairly unsanitary himself – after all, Sam did the laundry more often than not. He didn’t think it would increase brotherly harmony to point this out, though. Instead, he rolled over again. “Good night, Dean.” 

“Good night, Sammy.” 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam goes visiting and discovers Paradise.

The next day they trained, and they trained hard. Apparently witches were a big deal, because he pulled both boys aside to stand in the rising sun before their morning run. “Now I want to make something very clear to both of you,” he lectured as they stood to attention. “Witches are nothing to mess around with. They can do things that can’t be explained, turn your own body against you. Turn the very Earth against you, if they want to, and there’s no way of knowing who or what any individual witch might really serve.” 

Sam thought about the Jedi, about Darth Vader. Who did they serve? Would Dad really hunt Luke Skywalker?

“The bad news is that they can protect themselves from almost anything – turn you into a willing slave, make the gun so hot in your hand that it melts to your flesh,” John continued. “You have to be on your guard at all times. The good news is that their bodies are human, even if their minds and souls are monstrous. That means that if you can get the drop on ‘em before they can get to you, that you can kill ‘em just like any other red-blooded son of a bitch.” 

Sam wondered when killing people became good news. He didn’t say anything about it, though. He could see the look in his father’s eye well enough. Instead he fell in for the morning run. 

The run had to be longer than usual, ten miles instead of five, because “We have to be ready, boys. Can’t get complacent.” After that came the sparring, starting with hand-to-hand. “It’s good to get the blood pumping,” John told them. “I’m not going to go easy on you, though. Can’t let you get sloppy.” He found all the flaws in Sam’s fighting style within seconds, particularly a glaring weakness in his ability to defend his head against taller opponents. “Learn to block, you stupid idiot!” the father roared, knocking the boy to the ground for the tenth time in a row. 

After sparring came improvised weapons training. Sam fared better here, making up for his lack of size and strength with his ability to think quickly and use whatever came to hand. John didn’t make them keep at this exercise very long. Sam tried not to be bitter about that; his father only wanted to do things if he could watch him fail. Still, he had the satisfaction of having knocked Dean on his butt ten times and put John on his knees twice, so he’d take it. 

Escape practice came next, followed by the always-joyful knife practice. They even got a bonus round of shooting practice before John decided that they could eat. Breakfast time was long past over, but they could just do a slightly larger lunch; it would be fine. All three Winchesters washed perfunctorily in the hose before heading indoors.

Dean fixed some French toast and coffee while Sam watched their father carefully dissect the hex bag. He tried not to be obtrusive about it, but John saw. Dark eyes bored into Sam’s for just a moment as a large, scarred hand hovered over the little pouch. “You touch nothing, do you hear me?” the patriarch finally declared after what seemed like an hour. Sam nodded slowly, not trusting himself to speak and risk ruining this rare moment of privilege. He didn’t even smile in case that raised his father’s suspicions. John stared at him for another few seconds and then got to work. “I’ve never seen a witch who hasn’t used hex bags to do her work,” he began.

“Are they always girls?” Sam asked, staring at the bag. It seemed like a tiny little trinket to cause so much damage.

John paused. “No. Lore usually talks about witches as female, but that’s because the lore until recently was written down by the Church and the Church had some ideas about women and sex that they thought were important to spread around. I think that a lot of hunters get caught up in looking for female witches and that gets a lot of them killed. That was… that was a pretty good question, Sammy.” 

Sam would have been happier about the rare praise if his father didn’t look like he’d bitten into a lemon when he said it. “Thanks, sir. So. Hex bags?”

“Right. Hex bags. The witch makes a bag and puts the components of the spell into the bag. Sometimes she’ll make the bag out of something that belonged to the victim, like something that the victim wore. Sometimes it will just be a little leather pouch.” 

Sam considered. “Because the things that belonged to the victim might still have DNA on them or something? Like when kids at school won’t touch someone else’s jacket because they say it has cooties?”

John nodded slowly. “Right again, Sammy. They call that the Law of Contagion. What was once a part of you is always a part of you. It’s also how a shifter can steal your face just by getting your toenail clippings.” 

“Which is why we always burn them,” Sam added, leaning closer. “Okay. That makes sense.” 

“So their magic is stronger if they use that piece of their victim. The contents will be different depending on how they learned their magic and who the caster is. Let’s see what’s inside this bad boy.” He pulled out a knife and cut the hex bag open. 

Sam peered inside. “I see a dead bee.” He swallowed. “Because the guy got swarmed by bees.” 

“Not a fun way to go,” John grimaced. “We’re dealing with a very nasty witch. Evil, through and through. I see some ashes and what looks like dried herbs over here. What do we use dried herbs for?”

“Well, we use herbs for protection, right?” Sam recalled. “And for purification. When we go to clean out a place from an evil spirit we use sage.” 

“You are listening sometimes. Who knew?” One corner of John’s mouth quirked up. Sam glowered – he was the one who carried the stuff, who usually got stuck waving the bundle of burning sage around the house while Dad and Dean ran around firing their consecrated iron rounds at whatever – but he didn’t say anything. “Anyway, different herbs have different uses. Apparently they can be used for summoning, or for harming. It’s best not to speculate or to look too far into it; the temptation to look into using those kinds of spells for something that seems like a good idea at the time is strong.” 

Sam bit his lip. He could see where a person could be tempted. “So what’s that over there?” he asked, pointing while keeping his hand safely far from the bag.

“This?” John used a pencil to indicate a dark stain on the fabric. “No idea. It’s too dark for blood. Ink, maybe. And over here we have some seeds – a nightshade, maybe.” 

Sam sat back and scratched his head. “Okay,” he said. “So what I don’t understand is, this took a lot of work, right?”

John eyed him. “Spell work can be kind of involved, I suppose. Why?”

“Not just that,” Sam told him, waving an impatient hand. “It’s… it’s the planning. The witch went through an awful lot of trouble. They had to go and get something that belonged to the dead guy, they had to get the components and let me tell you I don’t want to be the one going and poking around at bees. They had to go and stick the hex bag in his car or on him or whatever.” John went still. “Why not just shoot him? Or stab him? Or poison him? Or blow up his car? Or cut his brake lines? Or stick a plastic bag over –“

“That’s enough, Sam.” John closed his eyes and held up a hand. “You come up with way too many quicker ways of killing people, you know that?”

“Long car rides,” the boy told his father flatly. “But seriously. Why go to all that trouble to kill someone that way when there are so many faster, easier ways of doing it?”

Dean walked over. “Lunch’s ready,” he told them both. “Is that the hex bag?”

“It is. Look, you’ve got –“ Sam began, sitting up straighter and trying to grab his brother’s wrist to show him the bee.

Dean pulled away. “Dude! Gross! Witches and their… just, no. Gross, man. That’s just not sanitary. Get that off the table and both of you go wash up before you go anywhere near the food, you understand me?” He glanced at John and added, “Sir,” with a stiffening of his back. 

John and Sam exchanged a look and a shrug. John cleaned up the discarded evidence; there was no more reason to keep it, after all, so he put it in a pile of things to be burned later. Then father and son enjoyed a rare moment of quiet non-hostility as they made their way out to the hose and washed their hands again.

After lunch, John decided that he would go out and do some more research. This was a solo job, he insisted, because if he got found out he wanted to minimize the likelihood that the enemy would use his sons against him. “If I had time to bring you back to Minnesota and drop you with Pastor Jim, I would,” he sighed. “I don’t like the idea of you boys being exposed to this at all. But she’s already dropping bodies – six of them, and two within the past two weeks. I can’t afford to let more people die, either.”

“It’s okay, Dad,” Dean grinned. “We’ll be able to handle ourselves. I’ll keep Sammy here out of trouble, I promise.” 

John looked at them then, an expression Sam couldn’t quite define on his face. “Yeah,” he grimaced. “You do that.” And then he left the trailer. 

“Pull up a chair, squirt,” Dean ordered. “It’s time you learned to play poker.”

Sam sighed. Dean had already showed him poker. He’d rather play chess. Of course, they didn’t have a chess set, but they could use found objects as pieces. Different types of bullets or something. “Okay.” He got the cards out of Dean’s duffel. “Play for bullets?”

Dean shrugged. “The hell else are we going to play for?” He dealt the cards.

Sam let Dean deal the cards. “So. You and Dad, huh?” the older boy grinned when the cards had been dealt. 

Sam looked at his hand. “What about me and Dad?” He had nothing. Absolutely nothing. The best he had was two cards of the same suit. He discarded the other three and got three more, adding to the pot. 

“What are you doing there, Sammy? If you’re getting rid of your entire hand what the hell are you doing making a massive bet like that?” Dean shook his head and tossed his own increase into the middle of the table. 

“It’s not like it matters, Dean. We’re just doing this to kill time.” He checked his cards. Huh. Two pair. 

Dean moved his cards around, tossed one and replaced it. Sam watched carefully. “You and Dad actually had a conversation without arguing. He seemed pretty impressed by your questions and everything.”

“He’ll get over it,” Sam commented. “And put that one in the discards pile and take a fresh one. From the top of the deck this time, jerk.”

Dean chuckled and shook his head. “Good eyes, bitch!” He obeyed, Sam’s eyes on him the whole time. “I’m going to have to get better at that. See, that’s the time to ask questions. When he’s in the mood to teach, when he’s able to slow it down and let you learn. Not when we’re out in the field and you need to just shut up and do what you’re told, kid.”

“Dean, I’m not just going to shut up and do what I’m told if shutting up and doing what I’m told is going to get us killed.” He made a face. “Why exactly would you need to get better at cheating at poker?”

“Don’t think of it as cheating, Sammy. Think of it as giving us an advantage.” 

“It’s hardly an advantage, Dean. It’s a game.” 

Dean scoffed. “How do you think we keep afloat, Sammy? The Impala doesn’t gas itself up. We’ve got to hustle. Our lives depend on our ability to play this game and get as much money as we can get away with out of it. Why do you think I’m sitting here making you learn to play it? Pretty soon you’re going to have to learn to deal from the bottom of the deck too, count cards.” He put his cards down. “Alright. I got a pair of aces. Let’s see what you’ve got.” 

Sam made a show of sighing. “I’ve got a pair of twos.”

Dean moved to sweep up his “winnings.” “Ah ha ha, Sammy, see? I’m the master –“

“And a pair of fours,” Sam added, putting his cards down with the faces up. “Didn’t even have to cheat to do it.” He grabbed his winnings quickly, before Dean could snatch them despite his loss. “So wait – not everyone can cheat, right?”

“Well, I guess not, Sammy. I guess they could, if they practiced, and if someone taught them.” Dean scratched his head.

“I don’t think they could. I mean, most people would get twitchy about it. They’d get nervous and give themselves away, or they’d drop the cards or something.” Sam wrinkled his nose.

“You’d totally drop the cards,” his brother teased. “You’d try to deal from the bottom of the deck and wind up playing 52-pickup!”

“That’s not the point. Cheating is something you’re doing, that not everyone can do, that gives you an unfair advantage. But it doesn’t come from the devil or an evil influence, right?”

“No, man. Caleb taught me.” Dean rolled his eyes. “What’re you getting at here, Sammy?”

“I’m just trying to figure some stuff out.” Sam looked out the window. The Church had certainly had a lot to say on the subject of witches, way back when. 

“It’s not like that,” Dean insisted, putting a hand on his arm. “It’s not like witches, okay? This is all natural.”

Sam gave his brother a polite smile. He didn’t agree – it was the same, and he knew it – but he wasn’t sure how to articulate it in a way that Dean would understand that wouldn’t also get him either punched or subjected to a whole lot of shouting. It wasn’t so much that he thought that cheating at cards came from deals with demonic forces – it might, for all he knew, but it probably just came from plain old greed. He just couldn’t make himself accept the idea that any kind of unusual ability had to come from evil. Fred Jones had been a telekinetic, and he hadn’t been evil. He’d given Sam his first beer. “Can we go play outside or something?” he asked instead. “It’s hot in here, and I bet we’d find plenty to do if we went out in the woods back there.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “You need to learn this stuff, Sammy. It’s part of being a hunter.” 

“Tree climbing counts as strength training,” Sam countered as soon as the words were out of his brother’s mouth.

Dad didn’t come home until very late that night, yet again. He didn’t stumble, but he still reeked of booze. Sam thought about what Dean had said, about needing to hustle to make money, and he wondered if that was where his father had been going. Did he spill on himself to make himself seem drunker than he was, so people would let him get away with more? So they would think they were taking advantage of him instead of the other way around?

The next day was a library day. Excitement bubbled up in Sam like a fountain. Sure, his brother and his father were going off to do Very Important Hunter Things without him, but what did he care? He didn’t want to go off and hunt anyway, especially not if it meant going after people who might not be doing anything wrong in the first place.

Well, except that they were killing people. That was a problem. Couldn’t they just find a way to stop the witch, take away their powers or something?

He didn’t want to think about it, because he knew what his father’s response to that would be and he didn’t feel like doing knuckle pushups right now. Instead, he dove right into his book about local connections to the Underground Railroad. Star came and talked to him about it at lunch, when he dove into another crisp and delicious salad. “You look like you can’t put that book down!” she marveled.

“He’s gonna marry it,” Susan teased, tickling behind his ear with the end of one of her long red braids.

He swatted her hair away. “Quit it!” he objected. “Jeez, you act like there’s something wrong with enjoying the book!” He laughed, shaking his head. “You should meet my brother, you’d get along great.” 

Susan made a face. “You’re okay for a boy. I think I’ll draw the line there, though. Lightning doesn’t strike twice.” 

Star laughed at her. “Oh, come on. He’s Sam’s brother, maybe he’s like Sam!”

“Naw, Dean’s much better than I am,” Sam admitted, blushing. “But don’t tell him I said that. He’s a jerk. Anyway, I’ve lived all over the country, right? And people everywhere else see New York as this big… place, like this big concrete slab that’s all Manhattan. That’s it, just one giant Manhattan. And I mean, I’m here and I can see that’s not so, but I guess I just never realized how different the cultures were.” He thumped a hand on the book. “I’m learning all about this tension between the people up here, who mostly settled in from New England and were abolitionists, versus the people down there, who had these deep ties to the South in terms of money and stuff.” He squirmed. “And there’s like, religious stuff mixed in there, and everything. It’s interesting. That’s all before you can even talk about slavery itself or how people physically helped people escape to freedom.” 

Both sisters stared openly at him. “You actually care about that,” Susan marveled.

“Well, yeah,” he said, trying to make himself smaller. He didn’t have far to go. “Don’t you?”

Star shrugged. “I never thought much about it. We don’t think much about the City if we can help it. Most of our moms think of New York City as a giant tax-sucking monstrosity with no nature anywhere. Up here we can breathe free, that’s what’s important to us.” She grinned. “Never worried too much about the ‘why’ behind it. Do you always do this much research into the places you stay?”

He blushed. “Well, I mean, sure. I’ve never really had anyplace I was from, you know? So it helps me to feel like I’m part of someplace, even if it’s just for a little while.” Plus it helps to know where the ghosts are going to come from, he added to himself. Oh yeah, and where the bodies will be buried, and the old battlegrounds are… not that I can actually say that.

Susan perked up. “Hey, you know what? Our farm was built in, like, 1802 or something like that. I bet you’d find plenty of stuff you’d be interested in out there. It might have even been a stop on the Underground Railroad! Hey, maybe Sam could come out there next week and we can see if we can find any evidence!” The girl turned bright eyes over to her sister, who hummed.

“Susan, I’m sure he’d be very welcome but you know we can’t just bring people over. We need to talk to our moms about it. Can we give you a call, Sam?”

He blushed again. “Um, we don’t really have a phone.” He cleared his throat. “But maybe we can figure it out next Tuesday?” He knew that there would be no possible way that John would allow him to go out to some stranger’s farm, but he’d give it a try. Maybe the witch thing would have him so spooked he’d be glad to have Sam out of his hair. 

“You don’t have a phone?” Sarah blurted. “Ow!”

Star smiled the bland smile of a woman who definitely hadn’t just stomped on her little sister’s foot. “That’s fine, Sam,” she told him. 

Sam’s stomach turned itself in knots as he walked home, trying to figure out a way to ask permission to go visit the farm. He could get John in an angry mood, and then John would lash out at Sam for being so selfish as to want to go to a friend’s house instead of training when there were witches around killing people. He could get John in a protective mood – of course he couldn’t go out to a friend’s house, there were witches in the area for crying out loud! Or he could get John in a dismissive mood – what’s wrong with you, Sammy, how can you bother me with these trivial things when I’m trying to save lives, go run five miles since you have so much time to waste! 

What he did not expect was to find John in an anxious, distracted mood. “Yeah, whatever, Sammy. It’ll get you out of my hair.” 

And that was it.

Sam looked at Dean. Dean looked incredulously back and forth from Sam to their father and stalked off, shaking his head. “I don’t like it,” Dean admitted when Sam caught up to him outside, a minimum safe distance from the trailer. “I know you really want to go, Sammy, but it’s not safe. I don’t know those people, there are witches around, and it sure as hell ain’t like he ever let me just wander off with people he didn’t know.”

Ah. So Dean was jealous. “Dude. You always got to wander off with people. You had friends, you got to play baseball and everything. Besides, it’s fine. These people have been in the area forever. You’ve met the older sister – she was the cashier that first day here.”

Dean’s eyebrows rose up into his hairline and a wolfish grin spread out over his face. “Dude, seriously? The hot one?”

Sam almost choked from laughing. “She is so far out of your league, dude. She’s eighteen; she’s going off to college in the fall. You still can’t hit a sustained tenor.” 

“Screw you, peanut.” 

“Asswipe.”

“Monkey brain.”

“Hairy-palmed skirt-chaser.” 

“Bitch.”

“Jerk.” 

The next few days were absolute murder on Sam’s nerves. He had to be perfect, absolutely perfect, or else Dad might take away his precious day pass to go visit Susan and Star’s family farm. He bit right through his lip so he wouldn’t respond to any of his father’s baiting. He didn’t complain about the running. He didn’t even complain about shooting, not even when the bowstring snapped and left a huge welt on his chest. 

On Tuesday, he made it to the library and managed to tell his friends that he’d gotten permission. Much to his delight, they too had earned permission to have a friend come visit. 

Wednesday dawned bright and clear. Star and Susan came to pick him up at the library at nine, although Dean dropped him off early because he wanted to go “look into something” in town. Sam didn’t mind. He didn’t want to be late. 

Their car was a pickup truck, a giant red thing covered in mud. He climbed into it and buckled himself in. “So you really live on a farm?”

“Sure do,” Susan told him with a proud grin. “Have you ever been on a farm before, city boy?”

Sam rolled his eyes at her. “I worked on a farm down in Lancaster County,” he told her. “It was winter, though, so I mostly worked with the cows.” 

Both girls nodded their heads in respect. “Not bad, not bad. Dairy farming is hard work.” 

He shrugged. “I didn’t mind it so much, really. I mean, cows aren’t so bad, and the winter was pretty cold, you know? Once I got past the smell, I mean.” 

They couldn’t argue with him on that. He didn’t expect them to. Cowsheds stank.

The family farm stood about twenty minutes outside of Tully, following long country roads that seemed to go up and down more hills than a roller coaster. They finally made it, though, pulling up to what seemed to be a giant, sprawling farmhouse. The original had been a modest building made of brick; people had kind of stuck more bricks on as needed while the decades wound their way by. Sam jumped out and drank in the sights – rolling hills, verdant fields, the bright sun and electric blue sky overhead – and for a moment he couldn’t move.

People lived like this?

Then he got knocked to the ground. “Oof!” His hand went for his knife before his brain finished processing the fact that he’d landed, but before he pulled it from its sheath a warm, foul-smelling tongue started licking his face. A great weight, from another angle, sat on his legs. He reached out automatically and connected with warm, soft, short fur.

“Daisy! Donald!” scolded Star, coming to remove a massive black Lab from Sam’s lap. “Off!” 

The black Lab wagged its tail as the chocolate lab continued to “wash” Sam’s face. “It’s okay,” he laughed. “I love dogs! I just wasn’t expecting to get so… loved by them, quite so soon!” He reached out with his other hand to pat the black Lab. “Can you let me stand up now, buddy?”

The dog stood, barking once, and Sam let the chocolate Lab help him balance as he got to his feet. The residents looked at each other. “What?” he asked them.

“Donald never listens,” Susan informed, scratching the recalcitrant dog on his head. “You must be some kind of dog hypnotist or something. Maybe you’re some kind of canine Jedi Knight!”

Sam laughed out loud, glad his father wasn’t around to hear something like that. “Yeah, sure, maybe.” He held out a hand. “These are not the bones you’re looking for.” 

Susan giggled. “Come on, let’s introduce you to Moms. Then we can go play!”

The outsider had no problem with that. His palms were already sweating; might as well get the hard part over with right away.

He followed his hostesses into the ramshackle building through the rear door, entering a large and airy kitchen. “Hi, Susan. Hi, Star. This must be Sam.” The woman loomed over the counter, pulling a cloth over a bowl. Sam thought he smelled bread baking. “I’m Kelly, one of the girls’ moms. I’d shake your hand but I’m covered in dough. How are you?”

“I’m okay, ma’am. How are you?” He gave his best non-threatening smile.

“Well now, aren’t you a little charmer? Susan, the other moms are all out in the fields with your sisters. Why don’t you kids run along and play, and you can go ahead and introduce your friend at lunch?”

“Okay, Mom!” Susan said quickly – too quickly, Sam realized. Both of her hands had disappeared behind her back. “Thanks!” She nudged Sam with her shoulder. “C’mon, Sam. Let’s go – I’ve got something I’ll bet you’re dying to see.” 

He smiled at the baker again. “Nice meeting you, ma’am.” After that, he followed his friend outside.

Once they’d gotten out the door, Sarah passed him a chocolate chip cookie. It was still a little bit warm from the oven. Sam closed his eye and held it in his hand. If there was a Heaven, not that he’d be going there or anything like that, it was warm, fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies. After several seconds, he took a bite. Oh yeah – this was pure heaven. 

“Come on – you’ve got to see this!” Susan told him. “We’ve got a real live graveyard on the farm!”

“Seriously?” Sam trailed along after her, nibbling on his cookie. He wanted it to last as long as possible.

“Oh yeah. Not sure why, we’re not that far out of town, but whatever. Come on, check it out!” She led him to a small-ish, fenced off plot of land where a good number of worn tombstones loomed drunkenly out of the ground. Some kind of a vault-type of tomb had been built sometime around 1848, or maybe it was a mausoleum. Sam scratched his head. “You think they’d have made a hiding place that obvious?”

Susan blinked at him. “What do you mean? Oh – for the Underground Railroad?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, mausoleums like that were usually for super rich people, you know? And this – it looks like it’s been a working farm since it was built.” He nibbled on his cookie again. “It sticks out like a sore thumb though. Anyone looking for escaped people would have to just go right for that, right?”

She thought about it. “I don’t know. Wouldn’t the police or whoever just not want to have messed with bodies or something?” 

They peered inside watery glass window. “Maybe,” Sam told her. 

“We could go inside,” she suggested. 

He tried the door. “It’s locked.” He’d brought his lockpicks, he never went anywhere without them anymore, but he’d gotten an earful from Dean back in first grade about Things Not To Do In Front Of People. “Besides, we should talk to, I don’t know, someone before we go in there. You don’t know what we might find in there.”

She laughed at him and nudged him with her shoulder again. “What, like a ghost?”

“No,” he lied, “but if they hid escaped people in there, there might be a false bottom on the floor or something. It would be like falling down a well. We’d need a rope or something at least.” They looked back in through the window. “I am curious, though.”

“We’ll see if my moms will let us or if they’ll come down with us after lunch,” she told him decisively, as Daisy and Donald stuck their noses under his hand.

He scratched absently. “Sounds good.” They sat down on the steps to the mausoleum. “So what do you all grow here?”

“Come on! I’ll show you!” 

They got back up again, and she showed him around half of the farm before lunch. They found the remains of some old outbuildings, the chicken coop, a massive field of herbs and an orchard that took Sam’s breath away. “Are these all apples?” he inhaled.

“This section is,” she beamed. “Some of the best in the county! We’ve got a section of pears, too. Mama Christine is thinking about putting in some blueberries, but Mama Rachel isn’t too keen on that.”

“Wow. And you all eat that?”

“Sure, why wouldn’t we?” 

“I’m pretty sure that my father and brother think that vegetables are the Devil’s messengers.” He rolled his eyes. “They’d probably eat apples or blueberries in pie, but I don’t even know if they’d recognize them in their natural forms.” 

She laughed at him and patted Daisy. “Well, we have a field of spinach too, although that’s all been harvested. We’ve got tomatoes in there now; we’ll get kale in there before the winter comes. I can show you the rest later.” A bell started to ring in the distance. “Come on – it’s lunch time!”

Lunch turned out to be a soup, made from beans and kale, and homemade bread. Sam’s mouth watered just from the scent. “This looks amazing,” he confessed. “Did you make this all yourself?”

Kelly preened a little. “It’s nothing fancy, sweetie, but yes, I did make it myself. Have you tried homemade bread before?”

He blushed, but Star spoke up. “Sam told us he worked on a farm down in Lancaster County over the winter. I’d imagine he got to try plenty of homemade bread back then.”

One of the moms, Sam thought she might be Mama Laura, frowned. She’d been the only one who hadn’t seemed at least neutral about meeting him, but now her dark eyebrows drew together with obvious concern. “You’re ten, Sam,” she pointed out, raspy voice uncharacteristically soft. “You shouldn’t have been working a job.” 

He should really just paint his cheeks red permanently; it would save time. “Well, you know, sometimes things get tight,” he told her, squirming a little. “The opportunity came up, and I was happy to have a chance to help out a little. I learned a bit of the Pennsylvania Dutch dialect of German and I learned a lot about cows. I hear New York is good dairy country,” he tried, changing the subject. 

It worked, and they got through the rest of the meal without much further embarrassment on his part. After lunch they went back outside to see another field of herbs, some more fields with other vegetables, farm equipment and the most important discovery of all – the tire swings. 

Finally, at the end of a long and exciting day, Star volunteered to drive Sam back home. His heart sank at the thought of her reaction to seeing the run-down trailer with no running water or electricity as well as the thought of Dad’s reaction to him letting a stranger near the trailer, but he took her up on it anyway. It wasn’t like he could get home any other way, after all. 

His fears were unfounded. She let him out at the end of the driveway and told him that she’d see him the next day, waving good-bye with a fond smile. Sam practically skipped up the driveway.

Dad and Dean both looked tired and kind of anxious, but neither of them wanted to talk about it. They ate their dinner in silence, until Dean put his fork down and sniffed the air. “Does it smell like dog in here to you?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam has an adventure he doesn't want

 

Thursday it rained, but once he’d gotten into dry clothes after his morning run Sam didn’t care. It was library day, and the whole world could go drown on library day as far as Sam was concerned. “Is there really all that much going on in that musty old place?” Dean asked him, exhaustion clear on his face as they rattled down the country road toward the center of town.

“Sure,” Sam replied, surprised. “I mean, it’s a library. I can research whatever I want, there’s other kids to talk to and we can talk about books or movies or different games to play or anything we want. It’s awesome!”

Dean drew his head back, affronted. “I talk to you all the time, Sammy.”

“You talk to me about hunting or about sex stuff, Dean,” the boy retorted.

“Well, yeah. What else is there?”

John gave a snort. “It’s probably for the best if you don’t go filling your brother’s head with sex stuff, Dean.”

“I’m only ten, after all,” Sam glowered.

“Not like you’re ever going to have sex anyway,” Dean grumped, crossing his arms over his chest. “What girl’s gonna want to look at you when she’s got me?” 

Sam rolled his eyes. Who cared if girls wanted to look at him anyway? It wasn’t like he was ever going to be around anyplace long enough to do anything about it. He knew that didn’t mean much to his father or his brother, but he knew enough from books and from health class and everything to know that they’d both probably wind up getting a disease or something eventually. He didn’t want that. Who did? 

“It’s best if he just learn to focus on the hunt,” Dad said, hands gripping the wheel a little tighter. “I’m pretty sure it won’t be an issue for Sam.” 

What was that supposed to mean anyway? Not that he minded – girls were fine for friends, but the prospect of all that touching just seemed kind of gross to him – but why shouldn’t he be allowed just as much of a break to go “blow off steam” as they called it as his father and his brother? Had John somehow figured out about the filth inside of him? He turned his head and looked out the window. It didn’t matter. He’d never be in a position to have any choice in the matter anyway. 

He got out of the car in silence when they got to the library, good mood successfully tempered thanks to the good offices of his family. He started to perk up once he got into the building, though. Star and Susan were already there, along with some of the other kids. They both seemed happy enough to see him. “Hey!” he greeted. “Did you guys have a decent night?”

“We sure did,” Susan told him. “All the moms liked you, even Mama Laura. She doesn’t like boys much at all.” 

Sam wondered what would have happened if one of the moms had given birth to a boy, but he didn’t say anything. He didn’t think that would make anyone feel better about their mom. “So, I was wondering,” he said instead. “You guys grow a lot of herbs at your farm. Is there really that much of a market for them?”

Both of the farm girls laughed at him. “Who does the cooking at your house again?” Susan wanted to know.

“Uh, my brother, mostly. My mom died when I was a baby.”

“Oh. Well, yes. Herbs have a lot of uses, but they’re especially useful for things like cooking. Have you finished that book we had on hold for you?” Star asked him. He nodded, holding his breath. “Well, why don’t we grab you an herbal. I’ll make you a list of all of the things we grow on the farm and you can figure out some of the things that people use them for now or might have used them for in history. Most of the things that aren’t used for food anymore are just decorative now, of course, but you might get a kick out of knowing what people thought they were useful for once upon a time.” She grinned. “You seem like that type.” 

Oh, Sam was just that type. And he knew it. This was just the first time someone hadn’t thought that being “that type” made him someone to mock for it.

Star showed him to the botany section and helped him to find a big, heavy book about herbs before leading him back to the children’s section. Then she grabbed a piece of paper from the copier and started making out a list. “Here are some of the herbs we grow up at the farm, Sam,” she told him. “Why don’t you see if you can’t find out some of the things people thought they were good for?”

He looked up at her. “This is only herbs from that first field,” he told her, opening the book. “What about the ones from the other fields we saw?” 

She hesitated, and then she grinned and laughed. “You’re observant!” She added to the list. “Most of these are just used for decoration now,” she reminded him. “We sell them to garden centers. But you might get a kick out of them.” 

He was sure he would, although not for the reasons she thought. After all, herbs were useful for protection and cleansing, right? What if he could “cleanse” himself? Maybe Dad wouldn’t hate him so much. He smiled happily at his teenaged mentor and got to work.

The family had a generous section of rosemary shrubs, which had kind of struck Sam as odd at the time. He’d thought rosemary would thrive better in a drier, warmer environment like California or Texas, but apparently some varietals did just fine up here because they grew little shrubs and sold them. According to the herbal it was a popular culinary and decorative herb, but it also had protective uses for occultists and spellcrafters – especially female spellcrafters, he noted, writing the information in his notebook before moving on to the next item on his list. The Tealls grew mint; an herb Sam mostly knew through chewing gum. According to this herbal book, it “had once been used” to break spells and jinxes and gain mental clarity.

The work absorbed him. He liked this. Sure, it might be peripherally useful on a hunt someday. It might even be vaguely useful on the current hunt, if Dad or Dean got crossed up by the witch now and needed help or something. But truth be told, he just liked learning this stuff. The first list of things were even herbs that were easily found in the grocery store, for crying out loud. The stuff on the second list – that was more obscure. Yarrow, for example, offered bravery and broke curses, but had no culinary use. Wormwood, too – that stuff was dangerous. People once used it in brewing and distillation, but now it got used as a border plant in suburban gardens. How many of those suburban gardeners were really looking to “stimulate psychic visions” or “aid in contacting the spirit world?”

Five o’clock came far too early for Sam’s tastes. He reluctantly closed up the book and handed it to Star, who shook her head with a gentle smile. “Wow, you’re really into that book, aren’t you?”

He blushed. “I like learning stuff,” he admitted. 

“Look. I know you’re not supposed to get a library card, but how about if I go ahead and check this book out for you? You can keep it for the whole weekend and then bring it back on Tuesday.” 

Hope fluttered in his chest. He quelled it. “Oh, I couldn’t do that. It’s raining; the book would get wet.” 

She paused. “Do you walk home at night, Sam?”

He shrugged. “I have to get home, ma’am.” 

She made a face at the honorific. “I’m eighteen, Sam. I’m way too young for ‘ma’am.’ Look. I’ll give you a ride. I know where you’re living and that’s way too far for anyone to be walking, never mind a ten year old.” Her lips folded shut. “Come on. Let’s go.” 

He swallowed. “Okay.” 

She checked out the book, and Sam followed her and Susan out to the pickup truck with burning cheeks. It wasn’t like he wasn’t perfectly capable of walking home, or even running home if the situation arose. He wasn’t some baby who needed someone to wipe his nose for him or change his diapers. At the same time, he liked the book. And saying no, fighting back on this, would probably cause more problems for him than accepting the ride. 

The Tealls let him out at the end of the driveway. He thanked them profusely for the ride and raced up to the trailer, book up and underneath his shirt. Dad and Dean were home, surprised to find him back so soon. “Figured we had at least an extra hour and a half of peace,” John grumbled, picking up scattered papers from the table.

“Susan and Star offered me a ride,” Sam explained. “Because of the rain. Sir,” he added when both father and brother glowered. 

“What, you’re made of sugar, can’t let the rain fall on your precious little head?” the eldest Winchester scoffed.

“They checked me out a book from the library. I tried to say no, but it would have drawn more attention if I’d kept that up.” He kept his head up. “I know you didn’t want that.” 

John looked him in the eyes. “A book? Really, princess? Your lazy ass rode back here because of fairy tales?”

“An herbal, actually.” He produced it from under his shirt. “Traditional and modern uses for hundreds of herbs. I got kind of into it so Star really wanted to check it out for me. Something to do over the weekend. Sir,” he added after another glower. “We do use herbs to cleanse houses and stuff.”

John tilted his head from side to side. “Valid,” he admitted after a moment. “I’m surprised you thought of it. Alright. New project. I want you to go ahead and copy every word of that herbal, word for word. I’ll have Dean run out and get you some notebooks.” He tossed a few bills onto the table. “Grab us some grub while you’re at it, Ace. First things first, Sam. Get the trailer cleaned up; it’s a sty in here.” 

Sam looked around. He’d kept the place in fairly good order; the only dirt or clutter had been distributed by John or Dean while he’d been out. He could say something, but that would just make John take away the possibility of spending time with the book. Plus, it wouldn’t take much time to clean up.

By the time Dean got back – six cloth-bound composition notebooks and three Styrofoam containers of greasy cheeseburgers and fries in tow – Sam had dealt with all of the clutter and scrubbed all of the mud. He glared at his brother and erased the footprints he left behind when he got through the door. Sam choked down some of the fries and managed a few bites of burger before he asked to be excused. “You just can’t wait to get back to that book, can you?” Dean chuckled, shaking his head. 

The boy shrugged. “It’s useful knowledge, Dean,” he told his brother. It’s helpful to know. I mean, look. If we find, say, wormwood at a scene, we’ll have some clue as to what a witch was trying to do.” 

“That’s not for you to worry about, Sam,” John intervened. “You just keep your mind on copying the book, let your brother and me worry about what the witch was doing.” 

Anger welled up in the boy, but he choked it back. His father could tell him not to think all he wanted, but he couldn’t physically stop him. The important thing was getting back to the book. 

He stayed up late going through the book, diligently copying each and every entry in his tiny, cramped handwriting by the light of the Coleman lantern before Dean finally demanded that he “shut the damn thing off, will you? Not like Dad’s not gonna make us run tomorrow morning, rain or shine.” It did rain on Friday morning, too, and Dad did make them run. While running, he noticed asters (which might have nourished twenty different species, to include some beautiful butterflies) and butterfly weed (which had once been thought to cure pleurisy, if given in a tincture of water or rum; Sam wasn’t entirely sure what pleurisy was but he’d stick with modern medicine for that one and let that protected plant feed butterflies, thanks) and blackberries (whose leaves apparently could be used in spells to make someone else’s evil intent boomerang back on them or something like that.)

It did occur to the boy that most branch libraries didn’t have herbology volumes that listed magical uses for plants. Of course, this was the kind of place that had a commune of women raising their daughters in common on a farm right there in town, so apparently Tully was just open-minded about that kind of thing. Lucky for Sam, and for the Winchesters.

After they did their running, Sam dried off and got back to work. He’d only gotten as far as the letter B last night; he had a long way to go today. 

Saturday brought with it shooting practice and extra training, considering that the day was the first vaguely nice day that they’d had in a long time. He tried not to let himself show his frustration, but got through his minimum shooting as fast as he could so that he could inspect the plants growing on the edges of the makeshift range. He found bluestem and dog-bane, arrow wood and bergamot. Not all of them had uses that were appropriate to hunters or to people that might be of interest to hunters, but Sam found himself fascinated anyway.

“Sam!” John barked as the boy poked at what he thought might be fireweed (edible and medicinal, he remembered, if that was really what this was. He knew better than to think that he was some kind of expert.) “Quit picking flowers, princess, and get over here and show some interest in sparring.” 

Sunday brought more training, more workouts, and more time with the book. Sam scribbled at a feverish pace, terrified that he wouldn’t get everything done before Tuesday. He skipped dinner, then breakfast on Monday, and then dinner again as he raced to finish the project. Blisters broke out on his hand, and they broke, but he just threw a couple of band-aids on them. 

Had his father’s lip curled at the use of the bandages? Must have been – yeah, Dad would absolutely look down on him for using precious resources on his pathetic, useless hands. Still, he worked on. When Dean complained about the light on Monday night, Sam took the lantern out and worked in the Impala until Dad came to make him run.

It worked. He got everything copied. He barely got it all done on time, his hand could barely move from all of the cramping and the blisters, his stomach was practically wrapped around his spine and his eyelids felt like sandpaper, but he’d gotten the job done. He’d done it right, too. This was something no one could take away from him. 

Dad didn’t even look at the stack of composition notebooks when they got back from their run. “It’s about time,” he grunted, gesturing to the coffee pot. “Get to it.” 

Dean started the coffee and Sam went to clean up and change for library day. At least Star and Susan would be impressed, right?

Except they weren’t impressed either. “You look like a zombie,” Susan told him. “Seriously, Sam. You look like you crawled out of a Saturday afternoon matinee. When did you last sleep?”

Star looked at his hand. “What happened to you?”

“Well, I had to copy out the book, and –“

“You copied that entire book?” she objected, grabbing his hand and examining it more closely. “By hand?”

He pulled the limb back gently. “Well, I mean, yeah. I thought some of it would be useful and Dad said sure, it would be. I think he just meant it to keep me out of their hair, but I didn’t mind. I mean, it’s good stuff to know and the best way to learn is to write it down –“

“Sam.” She crouched down to his eye level. “Did anyone know that you were staying up all night to work on this? Or that your hand was that messed up?”

He squirmed. Crap. He’d drawn attention again. “Well, I mean, I don’t know. I get pretty caught up in things sometimes.” He gave his best dimple-filled grin, or at least the best dimple-filled grin that he was capable of under the circumstances. 

It didn’t work. “I’d like to talk to someone from home,” the counselor told him, eyes narrowing a bit. “Maybe they could bring you into the building on Thursday.” 

Sam nodded slowly, swallowing. This was a disaster that even the Rebel Alliance’s victory over the Empire couldn’t overcome.

The problem loomed over him all day on Wednesday, when Dad went out to do more research and Sam and Dean were left to their own devices in the trailer. “So,” he finally asked his brother, bringing him a peanut butter sandwich for lunch. “I kind of wondered if I could ask you a favor tomorrow.”

Dean glared at him. “A favor? Really?” Then he grinned. “That depends on what it’s worth to you, squirt.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “How about it’s worth not telling Dad about you ditching me at Plucky’s back in West Virginia so you could go make time with Kelsey Markham?”

Dean scowled. “You promised you wouldn’t say anything!”

“Dude, you ditched me in a building full of clowns. Besides, desperate times.” Sam crossed his arms over his chest. He’d rather have done this the nice way, but if Dean wanted to play hardball he’d do it. 

His brother gave a deep, long-suffering sigh and threw his head back. “Who even says things like ‘make time’ anyway? Alright. Shoot. What is it that you want?”

“I want you to come into the library with me tomorrow,” Sam exhaled quickly, playing with the hem of his shirt.

“Seriously? What, did some other library nerd have a bigger book boner than you?” He laughed at his own joke. “Get it? Book boner?”

“I’m laughing on the inside. Listen, Star saw the bandages on my hand from the blisters that I got when I copied the book. She wants to talk to someone ‘in charge’ here.”

Dean cringed. “Better me than Dad,” he agreed quickly. “Nosy broad, is she?”

Sam shrugged. “I think she’s just worried. She doesn’t know the kind of life we live, you know? Normal kids don’t come in with blisters like that, they don’t need to wear long sleeves in public in the summer to hide training bruises and they don’t have to stay up all night to prove to their father that they can get the job done. I know we do,” he placated, holding his hands up as his brother’s face turned red, “but she’s a civilian and she doesn’t. She won’t. So… it worried her, I guess.” 

Dean rolled his eyes and shook his head. “This is what comes of trying to do stuff outside the family, Sammy,” he groused. 

“You do stuff outside the family all the time,” the boy objected. 

“Yeah, but I don’t care.” He stood up. “Fine, fine. I’ll do it.” 

The next day, Dean made good on his promise. He allayed John’s suspicions by telling his father that he’d promised Sam he’d go in and meet this “counselor” of Sam’s because “I think Sammy’s got a bit of a crush on her.” 

John was annoyed, but not suspicious that Sam was about to bring CPS down on their heads or anything, so he sat in the parking lot and waited while Dean escorted Sam into the building. 

Star greeted them at the entrance to the children’s section with a smile. “Hi, Sam. Good to see you. Why don’t you grab a seat?” Sam didn’t have a seat. He stood next to his brother, pulse racing. “And you must be Sam’s brother, Dean.”

“That’s me.” Dean gave a long, slow grin. “The one and only.” 

Star’s polite smile started to look a little bit strained. “So, Dean, thanks for coming in. I was hoping we could chat a little bit about Sam’s hand. I noticed some blistering, and I noticed that he hadn’t slept in some time. I guess that he copied out the entire book I sent home with him in one weekend?”

Dean blinked. “Well, yeah. He had to bring it back.”

Sam buried his face in his hands.

“And no one thought that he might be overworking himself,” Star prompted, smile falling. “Was anyone keeping track of how often he ate, or making sure that he slept?”

Dean struck a cocky pose. “Aw, sister. Us Winchesters are independent. If Sammy hadn’t taken so long to copy the thing out he wouldn’t have had to make up the time at the end, you understand?” His eyes looked the older teen up and down. “Sammy just needs to learn to prioritize. He’ll figure it out once he gets sick and tired of dragging, you know?” 

She reached out and lifted Dean’s chin so he was looking at her eyes. “Thank you for coming in and meeting with me, Dean. It was very instructive.” 

“No problem, sweetheart. Anytime.” 

“It’s Star. Thank you. Sam, you can show your brother out; come right on back here for the science discussion, okay?” 

“I think that went well,” Dean preened at the library entrance. 

“Dude, DSS is going to be at the trailer before you even get there,” Sam despaired.

Star did not call DSS. She did, however, make sure that Sam had the farm’s phone number. “You call us if you need anything,” she told him. “Anything at all.”

How he was supposed to do that without a phone, Sam had no idea. But at least he knew that the option was there. 

Friday was spent in training, again. Dad was off doing “research” or whatever, but he’d left Dean with a long list of training activities that he expected both sons to complete before he got home. Sam groaned. He hated sparring. He hated knife fighting even more. It wasn’t like Dean was going to go easy on him because of his size, no more than his father would. Dean liked to goad him, to tease, him, too. At least Dad just cut him down at the end of a session.

On the other hand, Dean liked to show him things. Dean would demonstrate how to perform a specific move, rather than just expect Sam to pick it up through osmosis. Today he showed Sam a new block he’d learned watching wrestling; it should be good for a shrimp like Sam, he said, because it used the opponent’s size against him. Sam was game for anything that let him succeed against larger opponents; he only ever fought larger opponents. 

By the time they were finished with their training Sam’s muscles quivered and his stomach groaned, but he didn’t want to go back inside. Instead he went back out into the woods, seeking out more plants from the book of herbs. His book of herbs. Sure, it had been busywork; that just made it more his instead of theirs, right? Not that he should be thinking of things that way; he knew that he didn’t have anything of his own, not really. 

Saturday brought a fresh new hell. Dad took them running and shooting, then he grabbed Sam from behind and tried to blindfold him. “Dad, what the hell?” Sam objected, struggling in vain against his father’s iron grip.

“Quit fighting me, boy!” John barked, tightening his hold and wrapping a leg around Sam. “Dean, get over here and hold onto your brother. Jesus Christ, boy, it’s a blindfold, not a noose!”

Sam didn’t care. It might not be much of a life but he wasn’t ready to end it, not yet. “I’m not letting you kill me!” he spat out. “I’m not going to let you!” He lashed out at where he thought his father was, connecting with something that yelped in his brother’s voice instead. “Fuck you! I’m not letting you just kill me out here in the woods like some kind of –“

John backhanded him across the face. “Quit your whining, you imbecilic crybaby,” he snarled. “For crying out loud, where would you even get that idea? What the hell is wrong with you, boy?” 

“Seriously, Sammy,” Dean added, giving him a shove. “Why would you accuse Dad of something like that, huh?”

Sam didn’t answer, focusing all of his energy on struggling in his father’s arms. There would be bruises for weeks from this, if he survived. Dad had finally decided to just take him out, that he was too filthy to allow to survive. He shouldn’t be surprised by that and he wasn’t, not really. The timing was a shock, but the act didn’t surprise him in the slightest. He hadn’t expected Dean to help out, though. Maybe he should have. John was Dean’s hero. Anything Dad said, went. Why would John deciding that Sam needed to die be any different?” He felt hot tears begin to soak through the blindfold in the midday sun. 

“Oh for crying out loud quit your blubbering! Do you really think I would kill you like this, idiot?” John sighed in exasperation, shoving Sam to the ground. “This is a training exercise. A survival training exercise. You have to –“

“What, find a way to survive you putting a bullet into my brain?” Sam spat. All he could think about were those cartoons, the ones where the victim got blindfolded and put up against the wall. 

“Keep interrupting me and I’ll be tempted,” John told him. “Get in the car. If anyone pulls us over we tell them it’s your birthday and we’re taking you to a special surprise.” 

Dean hauled him to his feet and Sam found himself dragged toward something – probably where the Impala had been, if he remembered correctly. Getting suddenly blindfolded hadn’t been great for his sense of place. “Lie down in the back,” Dean directed. “We’re going for a ride.” 

“Oh no, kid,” John chuckled. “You’re riding back there with him. You need to make sure he keeps the blindfold on. I don’t trust him.” 

Sam swallowed his panic and tried to focus behind a still-racing heart. He’d read about what you were supposed to do in a situation like this. Um, count the turns, right? He couldn’t use his eyes – Dad knew what he was doing – but he could use his other senses to try to increase his chances of escape. What had that book said? He struggled to reach back across a good three years of memory to some terrible mystery written for kids.

The ride took about an hour, but he was pretty sure that they doubled back on themselves at least twice. The route had hills, plenty of them, and by the end he knew that they were going to be at the top of something fairly steep. The temperature dropped; he couldn’t feel the sunlight on his skin anymore. Okay. Okay, he could work with that. He thought they’d gone back in toward town and then out again, but they hadn’t gone into town. Maybe… maybe north, based on sun positioning? He smelled cows, and then when the sunshine disappeared again he stopped smelling them again. Right – through farmland and then back into the forest. 

At the end of the journey, his father pulled him out of the car and held his arms to his sides. “The purpose of this exercise is to survive the next twenty-four hours,” John told him, breath hissing hot and foul into his ear. “On a hunt, you never know when you’re going to be caught out without supplies. This is to teach you how to get along. You stand there and you leave that blindfold on until you can’t hear the Impala anymore. I’ll be back tomorrow to get you. Nod if you understand me.” 

Sam nodded, limbs trembling. 

Dean’s footsteps fell away from him. “Can’t believe you thought Dad was just going to off you, freak,” he scoffed. 

Sam stayed still, fear rendering him unusually obedient. John still had his guns, after all. And And if John ever found out what Sam really was, the kind of freak he’d been harboring under his roof – well, he’d use them, and no mistake. 

The Impala roared away. 

When the engine faded, Sam took off his blindfold. He was alone in a forest, next to a road that looked so little used that it barely registered as paved. He heard a stream in the distance, barely audible over birds and the faint summer breeze. A friendly boulder provided seating.

He had no instructions and no supplies. Dad would supposedly come back for him tomorrow. All he had to do was survive, right? So what was he supposed to do, sit here on this rock and stare at the road until tomorrow? 

Well, he had a little silver knife – he didn’t go anywhere without that. He knew that he could probably find water in the creek, if it were drinkable, and he knew that some of the plants at least were edible. 

No instructions meant no orders, though. No orders meant that there was nothing to stop him from following the road down into town. It would be a long hike, but he could do it. 

Two hours later he found himself on more familiar ground. The long semi-paved road let out onto Teall Farm Road, a winding affair that happened bisect the Teall family property. He laughed to himself, despite the sweat and mess. Oh, this was just too awesome. He could get home from here just fine. First, though, he was going to get a drink of water. 

It was Mama Laura who answered the door when he rang the bell, though, not Star or Susan. “Sam?” she greeted with suspicion. “My God, Sam, you look a mess. What happened to you? You’ve got – are those bruises on your arms?”

“I got into some roughhousing with my brother, ma’am,” he lied. “I’m afraid that I got a little bit lost in the state park. Would it be okay if I borrowed a drink of water before I headed home?”

Star had heard his voice and made her way into the kitchen. “Sam? You’re not walking home, that’s way too far. Come on. Let’s get you some water, you can stay for dinner and I’ll give you a ride after you’ve had some good tasty salad.” She and Laura exchanged glances.

Sam considered and ultimately nodded. No one was expecting him anywhere, after all, and maybe he would get to see and play with Susan. The day was shaping up much better than it had started out.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam faces the consequences of his decision. The brothers discuss victimology.

Susan was duly summoned, delighted to have the excuse of the sudden arrival of her friend to get her out of farm chores. “I talked to the moms,” she told him dejectedly. “They all said absolutely not when I told them about the mausoleum – not without an escort, and no one has time today. They’re weeding.”

Sam tilted his head. “I could do some weeding,” he offered. “Then it would go even faster.”

The redhead snorted. “As if! Sure you know cows, and you’re learning about herbs. I don’t know if you’d know the difference between some of our herbs and a weed yet! Besides.” She stuck her hands on her hips. “We have the perfect excuse to go out spend hours on the swings and make fun of the chickens. Why would we not go do that? We’re kids! Come on!” 

He nodded. Playing on the swings definitely seemed like an awesome idea. 

They did spend some time playing on the swings and climbing trees, just running and having a good time before Mama Christine called them in for dinner. Tonight they were having bean stew, something that smelled magnificent even before Sam finished washing up. He said as much to Susan, who laughed at him. “I keep forgetting that you don’t get real food when you’re with your family.” 

“We eat real food!” he objected. “It’s not fairy dust or something!”

“Well, no,” she admitted. “But it all comes from fast food joints and diners, you said. That’s not good for you.” 

“It’s not nice to criticize someone’s diet in front of them, Susan,” chided Mama Rachel. “But home cooking is generally cleaner, better for you. It’s not possible for everyone, I guess, but it’s the cleanest.” 

Sam nodded. He liked clean things. If he put enough clean things into himself, maybe he could become clean. 

“So, Sam,” Mama Laura began, tone mild. “Can you tell us a little bit about how you managed to get lost up in the state park? It’s closed this year, is all, and there shouldn’t have been anyone up there.” 

He swallowed. “It’s closed this year? Oh, I guess we didn’t know.”

“Sam and his family only moved in a couple of weeks ago,” Star explained, hand on Sam’s head. “They would’ve missed all the hubbub about budget cuts and everything.” 

He nodded, grateful to his mentor for covering for him. “So Dad took us up there to explore and look around a bit – he likes to do that on Saturday – and I guess I got separated from the others.” 

Mama Kelly frowned. “Sam, you should always stay in place when you get lost in the woods. It’s easiest for rescuers to find you that way.” 

“Yes ma’am.” He nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind. This – well, it happens sometimes, I get distracted, and so we have a plan we follow when it happens. I usually just find the nearest road and try to make contact with Dad somehow.” He offered his best dimpled smile. “Dad usually knows how best to find me, or he knows I’ll find a policeman to get me home.” As if, he thought to himself, struggling to keep up the cute-little-kid act. He’d been firmly convinced his father was going to kill him earlier. Winchesters avoided cops, and right now Sam could see why. 

All four Moms made disapproving sounds in the backs of their throats. “Oh,” Mama Rachel said for all of them. “I suppose that’s worked out for you so far, but it would really be safest for you to stay in place. You never know who might find you out there.” 

He beamed at her. “Thanks’ ma’am. I’ll do that next time. Of course, I hope there won’t be a next time. Hey, is the sage in this stew the same sage that you grow here on the farm?” 

Kelly gave a broad smile, flattered. “It sure is. How can you tell?”

“It has the same scent. It has such a great flavor, ma’am.” 

“Sam’s developed an interest in herbology,” Star informed her mothers. “We’ve been talking about it at the program down at the library.”

All four moms, as well as the older daughters, looked reasonably impressed. “Has he now?” asked Mama Laura. 

“He sure has. Copied down every word of that giant text we have at the library too, so he’d be sure to remember it better.” She nudged him when he blushed. “Hey, don’t be embarrassed, it’s okay to have an interest in things like that. You never know when you might find it useful.” 

“Like when you’re all lost in the woods and need to know what’s safe to eat,” teased Susan.

“That’s a very good example,” Mama Christine nodded. “And some of them have medicinal uses as well, of course. We might have another book you could take a look at if you wanted. It’s a reprint of an old colonial manual that describes how to take some of those same plants and use them – kind of a next step, if you’d be interested. Of course, you’d want to cross-reference them with other, more modern books; I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t want to use wormwood to treat gout anymore. That could be a fun project for you.” 

He bit his lip. It would be a fun project, but if Dad made him leave then he’d essentially be stealing the book. “I wouldn’t want anything to happen to your book,” he declined, shaking his head.

“Nonsense,” she waved her hand. “I’m the one who translated it, I’ve got tons of author’s copies lying around. You can just have it. There’s plenty more where that came from. Just remember, this is for learning only – don’t go thinking you’re a doctor. These people died a lot.” She winked at him and he couldn’t help but laugh. 

After dinner, Sam and Susan helped clean the dishes before Star gave him a ride home. He had his new book in his hand, heavy and fresh and new and all his. “Sam,” she began. “Look, I’m glad to see you, and it was nice that you stopped by. But… you weren’t really lost up there, were you?”

“I was really lost!” Tears sprung to his eyes. “I wasn’t lying, I promise! I was lost, I promise! I was up there, and there was a road that was only sort of paved, and I followed it until I saw your street name!”

“Okay, Sam. Okay. It’s okay. But how did you really get separated from your family? They don’t usually let you out of their sight for more than a couple of minutes, do they? I mean, they’re pretty strict.” 

He didn’t meet her eyes. She was too smart; she’d figure him out in a second. “I get distracted by things,” he told her. It wasn’t a lie. “And I’m kind of slow.” 

“You’ve got an awful lot of bruises on your arms, Sam,” she continued. “And if you’d gotten up there normally, you’d have had a better idea of where you were. You wouldn’t have had to ‘figure out’ that you were on the back end of our land.” She glanced at him. “Is someone hurting you, Sam?”

“I was roughhousing with my brother.” His voice sounded flat, even to his own ears.

“Those bruises are in the shape of a hand, Sam.” She pulled the truck over and put on the hazard lights. “Please be honest with me. I’m not going to call the police unless you want me to. I’m not a teacher, I’m not a mandated reporter. But I do want to help you.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, Sam.” 

He bit his lip. She’d figured out enough, and if he didn’t give her something she’d make assumptions about the rest. Probably bad ones. He sighed. “My mom died when I was a baby – murdered. My dad can be kind of, um. Paranoid. Obsessed with training us, so we’re ‘ready.’ He decided that today was a good day to train for being dropped into the middle of the forest with no supplies, because in his head this happens all of the time and you have to be ‘ready.’” His eye roll wasn’t feigned. “I wasn’t warned. He just grabbed me and blindfolded me. I thought he was going to kill me and so I fought back. Hard. That’s why the bruises are there, he was holding onto me. That’s all.”

“That’s all.” Her jaw dropped. “Sam, that was about five million kinds of wrong.”

“I know, I shouldn’t have fought –“

“Sam – Sam, no. It was wrong of him to do that to a ten-year-old boy. You must have been so scared!” She threw her arms around him and pulled him in close.

“Once I got the blindfold off I guess I was okay,” he blushed. He didn’t see what the big deal was. Dad hadn’t killed him, apparently hadn’t planned on killing him. Not today anyway. “I mean, I got to safety, right?”

“Damn straight you did. Are you sure you want to go back there? Because we can make up a bed for you, we’ve got the space and we can figure out what to do about your dad until he calms down –“

He grinned a little. “Oh, I’m sure. It’ll be fine. I mean, my orders were to survive the next twenty-four hours, right? That was all. He didn’t say I had to stay there, didn’t say I couldn’t leave.”

She looked dubious. “Okay, if you’re sure. But just so you know, if you’re not at program on Tuesday I’m calling the police.”

Sam’s limbs felt shaky. He’d betrayed his family – hampered his father, because who knew if they’d need to run out in the middle of the night? But at the same time, someone was keeping an eye out for him. Someone was worried about him. And that felt incredible. “Thanks, Star.” 

She ruffled his hair. “Don’t worry about it, Sam. That’s what I’m here for.”

The rest of the ride was a lot less tense.

Dad and Dean weren’t at home when Star dropped Sam off. He picked the lock easily and let himself in. His bedroll had been moved from where he had carefully stashed it and for a moment, a sinking, terrifying moment, he thought that Dad had just gotten rid of it. Maybe he’d planned to go back and kill him tomorrow, or maybe he’d figured Sam would just up and die out there all alone on the hill. It would figure – he’d never liked Sam, never wanted him. He even thought Sam might not be his son – he’d never said so, but he’d written it down right there in his journal. Maybe he’d just figured that this would be how he’d rid himself of an unfortunate changeling. For a few seconds, Sam felt that same sense of panic rising up in him. His vision started to black out around the edges and he thought he might lose some of the delicious bean stew he’d eaten at the Teall farm.

Then he found his bedroll, tucked away on top of the kitchen cabinets. He could reach it if he climbed up on top of the stove, which wasn’t the brightest move he’d ever made but he’d do what he had to. They hadn’t planned for him to die. He shook his head to erase the thought. Dad hadn’t planned for him to die, he corrected himself. Dean hadn’t planned anything either way. But Dad hadn’t planned to get rid of him, just put any reminders of his existence out of visual range while he was gone.

Sam could accept that. He wouldn’t want to be reminded of something like him either, to be honest.

Either way, he had his blankets and his old pillow, and he had enough light to read by between the waning natural light and then a little flashlight.

Dad and Dean came back from whatever it was that they were doing and when they came into the trailer their guns were drawn. Sam had expected that; they were essentially coming home to find an intruder in their home, after all. “Sammy?” Dean recognized, seeing his little brother curled up on the floor with his book and flashlight. “What the hell are you doing? You’re supposed to be –“

“In the woods, waiting for bears to eat me?” Sam finished with a snort. “I’ll pass, thanks.” 

John’s face went red, then white. “I told you the parameters of that exercise, boy,” he seethed. “Your mission was to survive the next twenty-four hours!”

“And assuming you don’t shoot me I still will,” Sam pointed out. He’d been scared before; now he was just angry. This wasn’t a fly-off-the-handle anger, though. No, this was a cold, quiet rage. “Your orders –“

“My orders were to stay up on that hill!”

“But that’s not what you said,” Sam reminded him, rising to his feet. “You said to survive. You didn’t give any other instructions, any other orders. So I interpreted them in the way that made the most sense to me.” 

“You shouldn’t have even been able to get off that mountain,” Dean pointed out. “You were blindfolded, disoriented. I felt your heart, Sammy. It was beating a mile a minute.”

“Oh, sure. I was terrified. But terrified doesn’t mean stupid. You ditched me next to the side of a road, for crying out loud.” He shook his head.

“We didn’t ‘ditch’ you,” John corrected him, grabbing him by the shoulder and shaking. “That was training! It’s to keep you safe!”

“You took a ten year old kid who was already convinced that you were going to put a bullet in his head, blindfolded him and abandoned him in the woods,” Sam snarled. “Don’t pretend it was anything better than it was.” 

“I do what I do for a reason, boy!” John pushed him away, hard. Sam fell back onto the ground, shaking the walls of the trailer. “You need to know how to survive under –“

“And I did exactly that,” Sam spat back. “I used the resources available to me - my brain, my knowledge of the area, my connections. And I made it back to safety or what passes for it, without you.”

John snarled and raised his hand. For just a second, there was murder in his eyes. Then he lowered the hand again. “I’m going out,” he growled, grabbing his jacket off the table where he’d flung it. “Don’t wait up.” He stormed out of the trailer, slamming the door behind him.

Sam sank back down onto his bedroll, pulse still racing. He didn’t think his knees would hold him up. “Nice going, turdbreath,” Dean complained, flopping onto the couch. “He was going to stay in tonight with me and work on grappling. Sober,” he added pointedly.

Sam shrugged. He hadn’t meant to get Dean pissed at him, although he could see where his brother would be upset by the loss of a night alone with his hero. It probably reminded him of the time before, that magical time that Dean had been an only child and they’d been able to do normal father-and-son things, and dirty old Sam had just come along and screwed it up. Again. “Sorry. Wasn’t keen on getting eaten by bears.”

“There aren’t any bears around here, Sammy.” Dean rolled over so he was looking at his brother. “Jesus. Dad wouldn’t have dropped you in the middle of the woods like that if he thought there were bears.” 

Sam sniffed. “Actually Onondaga County has plenty of black bears, Dean. And a site like that old state park is a perfect environment for them.” 

“It’s a state park, Sammy. They have rangers for that!”

“It was shut down for budgetary reasons, Dean. There aren’t any rangers. Perfect bear territory. Or whatever else gets blamed on bears.” He picked up his flashlight and returned to his book.

“Dude. Dad wouldn’t put you in danger like that. Isn’t he always saying ‘Watch out for Sam?’” Dean shook his head. “What the hell got into you earlier, anyway? Accusing Dad of trying to kill you? What was up with that?”

Sam sighed. Dean worshipped Dad, idolized him. Sam couldn’t understand it, but he noticed it nevertheless. “You haven’t read the journal.”

“No. He said not to.”

“So?” Sam put the flashlight down. “You know he’s keeping secrets from us.”

“For our own good, Sammy. We have to trust him. He knows what he’s doing and he keeps us safe.”

“Dean, we’ve never been safe. Not since I was six months old. You can’t seriously think that dragging us from hunt to hunt isn’t putting us in harm’s way.” He flopped down onto the ground, unconsciously mirroring Dean’s gesture from earlier. 

“He’s doing what he has to do, Sammy. If we’re going to be hunters, we have to know how to do this stuff. The only way to learn it is by doing it.” Dean shook his head.

“We’d be safer if we weren’t hunting.” Sam rolled over and returned to his book.

“But we’re going to be hunters.” Dean scoffed. “Come on, man. What’s next? Cotton candy trees? Get real. Quit thinking there’s something else for us; it’s only going to make you unhappy. Just accept that Dad knows what he’s doing, that he’s doing everything for a reason, and do what the hell he tells you.” He paused. “It was kind of funny what you did tonight though.” 

Sam paused, a shy little smile breaking through. “Yeah?”

“Well I mean, he didn’t order you to stay in that spot. You outsmarted him. When he sobers up he’ll appreciate that. Don’t get used to it, though. He’s not going to let it happen again.” 

Sam rolled over again. “Dean, tell me more about the case.”

“Sammy, you know Dad doesn’t want you involved.”

“He’s stalled. That’s why he’s such an asshole lately.” Sam turned a page in his book, realized he hadn’t processed anything on the last page and flipped back. “Look. I know that you’re not supposed to be sharing but just let me see, okay? It worked in Bardstown.”

Dean gave a little laugh. “Yeah, it did. And Dad will be out for a while.” He got off the couch and went to their father’s room.

Sam hadn’t necessarily meant right that minute. He’d done a lot of hiking that day on top of some brutal training and his body throbbed. Still, people were dying. Wasn’t it Dad who told him he was selfish for thinking of his own body? If he was going to be part of the family business – and he was getting some very mixed signals on that – he needed to get used to the feeling. “So what do you know about the victims?” he asked.

“What do you mean?” Dean wanted to know.

Sam sat up and braced his back against the couch. “Well, whenever you have a serial killer they catch him by figuring out what the victims have in common. Witches are humans, right?” His brother nodded. “So it’s probably a good place for us to start too.”

Dean thought about it as he handed a stack of papers over. “Well. That makes sense, I guess, although I gotta say, your thing about serial killers is creepy.”

“It’s a hobby.”

“It’s a sickness.” Dean shook his head. “But the first thing is that they’re all dudes.”

“Okay.” Sam thought about it. “Well, your next victim is probably a guy too.”

Dean cuffed him on the back of his head. “You’re so helpful, asswipe.”

“Dudes are like almost half of the population, Douchezilla. I need more to go on than that. What else can you tell me about them?” Sam started flipping through the files their father had on the men. “Oh. Okay. They all had records.”

“Accusations, Sammy,” Dean corrected. “Only some of them had convictions. But yeah. I guess that they’d all had some kind of criminal complaint.”

Sam laid out one file. “This is the guy who was stung by bees, when the library program first started up. Gordon Lukasz. He’s got at least one prior conviction for felony assault and had an open accusation of sexual assault for ‘forcible touching.’” He scanned the report. “Looks like a lot of women complained about him. They dropped the charges when he sobered up.”

Dean squirmed. “That happens a lot in bars, Sammy. A guy has a little too much to drink, thinks a girl is more willing than she is, things get out of hand – doesn’t mean a guy should be stung to death by a million bees.” He grimaced. “I mean, why does the witch get to decide?”

Sam pulled the next file out. “Lucky bachelor number two. Not so much a bachelor – married, father of four. Lived on a dairy farm right here in Tully.” 

“Oh, the cow guy,” Dean recalled. “This is the one that got us pulled here.”

Sam looked up at the wall and pondered how he’d feel about going out with a legacy like “the cow guy.” “Make sure you salt and burn but good when I die, Dean,” he decided. “Anyway, it looks like your ‘cow guy’ had the cops called on him nineteen times in the past year thanks to neighbors. All domestics. Hospital trips for three of four kids on ten of those occasions, but no one said a word.”

Dean squirmed. “I mean, he’s their dad. Maybe we don’t know the whole story. I mean, sure, it looks bad, but how many times have we had to tell some giant whoppers to keep away from social services ourselves, huh, Sammy?” He shook his head. “The fact that it looks bad – and I’ll agree that it looks bad – doesn’t give the witch the right to play judge and jury, is all I’m saying.” 

Sam couldn’t argue that one. After all, they had a legal system in this country for a reason. He’d learned about it at seven different schools last year, with seven different explanations for basically the same thing. “That’s not the point, Dean,” he told his brother. “You don’t need to sell me on why the witch shouldn’t be killing people. I don’t like killing people at all, remember? I’m trying to figure out what it is that is drawing the witch to these people, what the pattern is.”

“Sorry.” Dean scratched his head. “Sometimes I wonder.” 

“I mean, the witch seems to be killing assholes from what I can see. Number three, level three sex offender, dead of – Dean, what’s auto-erotic asphyxia?”

“I asked Dad the same thing. He wouldn’t say,” the teenager admitted. “I’ll let you know. But I’m pretty sure that it wouldn’t be a good way to go if it’s how a witch whammied you.” 

Sam silently admitted the truth of this. “Number five. Complaints against him of taking pictures – what is this? Taking pictures up girls’ skirts?” He pushed the file away from him. “Dude. Gross. I think we can see the pattern.”

Dean fished the files out of his arms and looked through them. “Looks like we’ve got two more wife beaters slash child beaters and another rapist,” he counted, adding them to the piles. “You’re right. We’ve got a pattern. What does that tell us?”

Sam sighed. “The witch probably thinks they’re helping people.”

Dean stood up. “Helping people? They’re killing people!”

“Sure. But try to think about it from their point of view. I mean, you and Dad, what are you going to do when you catch up to the witch, huh?” Sam hung his head and let his shaggy hair hide his face.

“Well, we’ll kill her, Sammy. She’s using evil powers to kill people. She has to die.”

“So you’ll kill her because she’s a monster,” Sam prodded.

“Well, yeah.” 

The boy sighed. “In her head, she’s killing monsters too. This is just… this is just the only way she knows how.” Something occurred to him. “All of those victims, they all have multiple accusations against them, but nothing’s happened. Or they’ve been released after a short sentence, like the sex offender with the auto- auto-whatsits.” 

Dean nodded, sitting back on the couch and leaning forward. “I’m with you so far.”

“So, they have no faith in the system to deal with these people by normal means.” He shrugged. “I don’t know how helpful that is. I’d need more information. You know, to figure anything else out.” 

“I’m sure we can get that for you.” Dean sighed and lay back down on the couch. “It’s not like this witch is going to stop killing. It’s up to us to stop her.” He rolled over. “Don’t stay up too late, now.” 

Sam turned off the light. He’d lost his concentration anyway. 

His father stumbled in as the sun rose. How he’d managed to drive home Sam had no idea, but apparently he had. The child feigned sleep as his father stood in the doorway to their borrowed home, staring down at him. 

The good thing about their father getting quite that wrecked was that they got out of running, for the second time since they’d moved in. The down side was that Dad had a hangover, and it was a bad one. He nursed it with beer from a cooler and some aspirin for a little while, and by about three in the afternoon he demanded that Sam come and talk to him.

Part of Sam shivered in terror. The other part froze from a different emotion. He let that side control him, standing straight and tall as he met his father’s eyes. “Sir?”

“I’ve been thinking about your little stunt yesterday,” his father grunted out, pain lines still clear on his face. “And I’m not going to lie. I’m still pissed that you defied me. You knew what I wanted from you and you didn’t do it. At the same time, you found a loophole in the orders that I gave you and you exploited it. You got home safely – and any soldier will do that. Any soldier who has any way of figuring out his location will use it to get to safety. That was a normal response, a good response. 

“Don’t get me wrong. I’m sure that you found some way to dawdle and waste time out there,” he scowled at Sam’s amazed face. “I know you, Sam, and your mind is not on the hunt or on your training. You’d rather find a way to get out of your job than learn how to back your brother and me up, and that’s going to get one of us killed someday. But in this case, you did what anyone else would do.” 

“Thank you, sir.” Sam had so much else he wanted to say, but he could see Dean standing just over their father’s shoulder. He didn’t want to disappoint him.

“You know, I had your brother doing the same exercises when he was just eight. You’ve had a reprieve for two years, you know.” John tried to give him a stern look over a mug of cold coffee.

Sam had trouble taking the stern look seriously. “Did you jump him after training, hold him down and blindfold him without warning or was that just special for me?”

Dean held up his hands. “Hey. Don’t go bringing me into this.”

“So no.” 

John smacked his hand down on the table and then winced at the noise. “I didn’t need to do that to him. Your brother trusted me. If I’d have told you what I wanted to do you’d have just fought me, tried to argue me out of it.”

“And you’d have done what you wanted to do anyway, just like always.” Sam shrugged. “Literally all that you accomplished was leaving a bunch of bruises and making it that much harder for me to ever trust you.” 

“I am your father, you spoiled little brat,” John seethed. “Nothing happened. There was no reason for your girly little panic attack, you survived just fine. I wasn’t going to let anything happen to you and you damn well know it.” 

“I don’t know any such thing. You’re always putting Dean and me into dangerous situations, trying to get us killed, and then expect me to just roll over and somehow not think you’re trying to kill me when you grab me out of the blue and try to blindfold me? Is this a joke?” 

“Damn it, Sam, I have kept you safe for ten years and I don’t think a little trust is too much to ask!”

“You’ve been trying to get me killed for ten years,” Sam retorted. “You just haven’t told me why.” He got up and grabbed his book. “I’ll be outside.” 

“Sam!” his father yelled. “Get back here – ugh.” 

The boy walked outside, defying his father and finding an old log to use as a stool. The next few hours passed in blessed bliss, just him in the sun reading about plants and their uses. The sun beat down hotly, and maybe it would have been nice to have some water or a bite to eat, but there was no way he was going back in there. 

A few hours later Dean came out. His face looked drawn and maybe a little gray. “You really upset Dad back there, kiddo. You should go back in there and apologize.”

“He grabbed me out of the blue, blindfolded me, made me think he was going to shoot me and leave me in a ditch, he did abandon me in the woods someplace strange and you think I should apologize to him?” He closed his book. “Not going to happen.” 

“Sammy. He’s teaching us how to be safe. You don’t know when you’re going to find yourself abandoned out in the woods. You could be kidnapped and released someplace like that, just like yesterday. Or a ghost or other monster could teleport you someplace you don’t know – I’ve heard there are some trickster spirits that can do that, I’ve never met one but they’re out there. A witch could do it no problem. You just don’t know. This line of work, it takes us up against anything, so we have to be ready for anything. You have to prepare, you have to train.”

“Or I could, you know, go into a different line of work,” Sam suggested.

Dean shook his head and rolled his eyes in disgust. “Would you quit it with that stuff? That’s not an option. We fight. You’re gonna hunt. It’s all you’re gonna do, it’s all we’re gonna do. It’s for Mom. Mom’s the only thing that matters, Sammy.” Dean went back into the house, shaking his head sadly as he walked.

Sam sighed and turned back to his book. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam learns a lesson.

Dad didn’t speak to Sam on Monday, not at all. He had Dean give Sam his orders for the day – orders to run, orders for strength training, orders for sparring. Sometimes he’d tell Dean to order Sam to do something right in front of Sam, like Sam couldn’t hear him. The boy thought it was kind of absurd, but whatever. It kept his father from addressing him directly, which meant that they didn’t argue at all, and that meant a sharp decrease in the amount of shouting that took place. 

It also meant that Sam got out of having to spar with their dad, which cut down on the bruising significantly. That definitely counted as a win in his book, and sure it probably sucked for Dean that he had to sit there like some kind of telephone and relay messages but it was better than the fighting that usually went on. They got through their morning training in comparatively record time and Sam found himself dismissed to go clean the trailer and the weapons while Dean got held back “for a real workout, since it’s not like you were going to learn anything fighting against that brother of yours.”

Sam pressed his lips together. He’d knocked Dean on his ass four times out of ten, and Dean hadn’t been holding back anything either. He had half a mind to go out there and go right after his father, show him exactly what he could do. He wasn’t some scared little kid, he wasn’t useless, he couldn’t be just swept to the side and ignored.

On the other hand, getting through the cleaning got him back to his book faster. Given the choice between fighting with his dad or reading his book, he’d take the book every time. Besides, he was a scared little kid when he got right down to it. And pretty much useless to boot. So he went inside, and he cleaned, and he addressed the weapons. Both were spotless before his father and brother came in to clean up. Dad went out to go do more research, trying to track down the witch, and Sam went out to read his book in one of the trees. 

Tuesday turned out to be a rainy library day. Sam was able to happily report on his book to Star. Susan just rolled her eyes and shook her head. “You’re such a nerd,” she scoffed.

“You’re a nerd too,” he told her. “You’re in the library program just like I am.” Star laughed.

“Okay, yeah. But all this herb stuff is so lame! And it’s girl stuff besides. What does a boy want to know about herb stuff for? It’s for girls!”

Sam looked up, considering. Maybe it was for girls, after all. Dean was always telling him that he was a girl, but he’d always just shrugged that off as Dean’s fundamentally flawed grasp of anatomy. “I’m not sure that any kind of learning is just for girls or boys or anyone,” he objected. “I mean, boys can see the same plants as girls, why shouldn’t a boy be just as interested in what they are and were used for?” 

Star covered her grin with her hand. “Sam’s right, Susan. Just because you haven’t met any boys who were interested in these things doesn’t mean that there aren’t boys who are interested. And boys should be encouraged to like the same things as girls, just like girls should be encouraged when they like the same things as boys. You don’t get equality by keeping people apart.” 

Sam stuck his tongue out at Susan. She giggled. 

“You know, I’m sure my moms would be happy to talk to you about more of this stuff on Friday if you wanted to come out to the farm again,” his mentor encouraged. “I know it’s hard for you to get anywhere, but I’d be happy to drive you. I’m not working at the grocery store that day.” 

Sam bit his lip. “I’d have to ask.”

“Of course. But if your dad lets you, and if you’re interested.” She smiled.

As it turned out, Dad was more than happy to get Sam out of his hair for the day. “Go,” he grunted. “Maybe then your brother can get some real work done without you holding him back.” 

Dean looked down. Later on that night, after Dad had gone out to spend some more time looking for the witch, Sam turned to his brother. “Do you think that I’m holding you back, Dean?”

“What? No!” the teen squawked.

“That’s good,” Sam sighed. “That would be an awful thing to think.”

“I mean, sometimes it is hard. I can’t have Dad’s back the way I’m supposed to because I have to keep an eye on you, and you’re too little to really do much yet,” Dean continued like Sam hadn’t even spoken. “I wouldn’t say you hold me back, but I mean you could try harder to get to a point where you’re good on hunts and stuff.” 

Sam closed his mouth. Dad was right. He was just in the way, useless. “Maybe he should send me to go stay with someone else, like Pastor Jim. That way the two of you can just go off and hunt crap at your own pace.” He rolled over on his back.

“Don’t be stupid, Sammy. How the hell are you going to learn to hunt if not with us, hunting? You just have to try harder. That’s all. Have you had any thoughts about the witches yet?” Dean didn’t seem bothered by what he’d just said at all, like he hadn’t just shattered his little brother’s heart in two. 

“Well it’s not like you’ve given me any new information,” the child told his brother in a peevish tone. “What have you and Dad found out while I wasn’t around holding you back?”

“Aw, come on, Sammy. Don’t get your panties in a bunch, okay? That’s not what I said. It really hurts Dad that you won’t trust him, you know.” 

“It really hurt me when he convinced me he was going to murder me and abandoned me in the woods. The witches, Dean?” He rolled over, showing his brother his back. 

Dean sighed. “Fine, be like that. You’re going to have to buckle down sooner or later,. You were right, though. Every single victim had issues with women, and sometimes women and children.” 

They’d already known that. “And?”

“And that means we’re looking for a woman, Dad says.” 

Sam thought about his conversation from before, with Star and Susan. “Couldn’t it be a guy who has a problem with guys who hurt women?” he challenged. “Or don’t ‘dudes’ care about that kind of thing?”

“Christ you’re being a bitch tonight. A dude would just shoot them, like Batman. That’s what Dad says. He’s usually right. We’ve got to find a chick who has a hate-on for dudes.”

“Who wouldn’t be noticed getting near the men’s vehicles,” Sam added, ignoring his brother’s accusation. “And who has close enough ties to the area that she’d know everyone involved and care about them.”

“That’s good thinking, Sammy. I’ll bring that up with Dad. He was really impressed with the pattern we figured out the other night. He said so.” 

Something ugly surged up in Sam then. “I’m glad you got his approval, Dean. I know how much that means to you.”

Dean sucked his teeth and gave an aggravated sigh. “Well maybe if you didn’t piss and moan about everything and accuse him of trying to kill you for no reason he’d listen to you and you could get his approval too, bitch.” 

“I don’t think you understand just how little that means to me right now,” Sam snapped back. He kept his voice steady, but he couldn’t hide the tears that streamed freely from his eyes. Fortunately his back was to his brother, so Dean couldn’t see them.

John was back to giving him the silent treatment on Wednesday. That was fine by Sam. He gave as good as he got, to John and to Dean both. He figured he was ten, it was allowed. On Thursday night Dean told him – on his father’s behalf – that he was more than welcome to head over to the Teall Farm whenever he wanted, if he could find his own way there. “I don’t see why he’s being so lenient with you,” the older boy hissed, leaning in. “You’ve been an awful little bitch lately. You don’t take orders and you don’t listen. You don’t trust him even though he’s the authority and all you do is sit there and feel sorry for yourself. I never got to go play on a farm when I was ten.” 

Sam glared. That was crap and Dean knew it. Dean had been allowed to go to arcades by himself; he’d had friends from school that he’d been allowed to play with. He’d been on a baseball team. He’d even gotten to go play catch with Bobby while Sam had been locked in a room by himself. Dean also had the advantage of not getting lied to for the first eight years of his life. 

Still, Dean didn’t mean it, not really. He was just upset because Sam wasn’t giving in, because Sam and Dad were fighting and he was caught in the middle. He loved Sam, Sam knew he did. 

Friday was the magical day. Star picked him up at nine and brought him over to the farm, where she and Mama Laura led him and Susan on a hike through the closed-down state forest to learn about some of the edible and medicinal weeds and plants. Sam recognized some of them from his herbology notes, and he chimed in happily as he noticed them. Susan, for all her commentary on herbology being “lame,’ had plenty of her own information to throw in. After their weed walk, which took a good three hours, they had lunch. After lunch they talked about the different ways to process herbs – drying them, powdering them, distilling them and making them into oils. Sam’s mind drank all of the new knowledge in. He’d seen it all mentioned, but seeing it all at work made it click for him in ways that plain words on a page just couldn’t. “So this is a big part of your business,” he said, looking around a large outbuilding filled with drying herbs. “You sell some of these herbs to people.” 

“That’s right, Sam.” Mama Kelly had taken over for this part of the lesson. “We grow the herbs. Some of them we let go to seed, which we sell to seed companies. Some of them we sell to greenhouses and nurseries, and they sell them as garden plants. And some of them we process and sell in this form to people who want them that way.”

Sam frowned. “So, like, people who do the herbal medicine thing?”

Kelly smiled, but didn’t meet his eyes. “Sure. People definitely still do that.” 

His eyes roamed the drying herbs. “Okay, sure. Foxglove for the heart,” he recalled. “And Elecampane root for respiratory issues. But pennyroyal doesn’t have any safe modern medical uses.” He pointed to a plant hanging from a rack about three rows back. 

Kelly and Star froze. “Well, that’s not entirely true,” the younger woman demurred. “But some of our customers have some ritual uses for the herbs, it’s true.” The women exchanged glances.

“You mean witchcraft.” Sam’s mouth went dry.

“Maybe. Or hoodoo, or voodoo, or Wicca. Any number of other religions might want these ritual herbs or these oils or whatever. We’ll sell to any of them. But sure, some of them are probably witches. So what?” Star gave her best winning smile.

“Witches kill people,” Sam told her, eyes wide. “They kill people horribly!”

All three of his hostesses stopped in their tracks. Mama Kelly put a hand on his shoulder and crouched down to his level. “Sam,” she said slowly. “Where did you hear that?”

He swallowed hard. “My dad,” he admitted, looking down.

Star took one of his hands. Susan took the other. “Well he’s wrong, Sam,” Star told him. “We don’t kill people. We’re all about not killing people, in fact. The kind of ritual magic we practice is all about protection. That’s what we do.” 

Kelly sighed and stroked his face lightly. He leaned into the touch, he couldn’t help it. “There are some witches out there that do hurt people,” she admitted. “Just like there are good regular people and regular people who hurt people. You get that, right?” She sat down on the ground, saving her knees from the crouch. “Sam, magic is a tool, just like anything else.” 

He tried to moisten his lips. “But it’s not a tool that just anyone can use. That’s what makes it….”

“Pretty much anyone can do basic rituals, Sam,” Star told him, stroking his hair with a gentle hand as Susan watched. “That’s not an issue. Some of the bigger, more complex rituals are a little more involved. But anyone can do a ritual for protection. Anyone can fill a hex bag. Anyone can make a basic charm.” 

“But…” Sam trailed off. 

“Sam, is your father a hunter?” Kelly asked then. 

The boy held his breath. For a second, he thought about lying. The number one priority was to protect the family. No one could know what they really did, not ever. At the same time, that was about civilians. Civilians weren’t supposed to know. These women weren’t civilians. They were nice, too. “Yeah,” he confessed, hanging his head. “He came because some guys were dying. I don’t think it’s you he’s looking for, but…”

“But you don’t think he’ll discriminate,” Star finished, a grim set to her pretty mouth. 

“I do think that we should talk about this as a family,” Kelly told her daughters. “Sam, not because we’re mad at you. I’m glad that this came up and I’m very glad that you were honest with us. It lets us make a plan and figure out what to do to keep our family safe.” 

“Please don’t hurt my dad,” he asked, looking up at her with tears in his eyes. “Or my brother. Especially my brother. I know he’s a jerk but they’re the only family I have."

“We don’t hurt people, Sam,” Susan reminded him, throwing her arms around him. 

“That’s right. Come on, let’s head back to the house. You can have a look through the library while we talk.” Kelly stood up and offered him her hand. 

Sam shuffled back to the house. He might not have committed the worst possible sin, but he’d come close. He’d let an outsider know about the family. Not just an outsider, but someone they hunted. They’d figured it out for themselves, based on what he’d said, but why couldn’t he have just kept his stupid mouth shut? Now they were going to go after Dean and they were going to go after Dad and he was going to be all alone! 

Susan squeezed his hand. “It’s going to be okay, Sam. You’ll see.” 

He couldn’t exactly summon a smile for her, but he squeezed back and let her lead him to the library while Kelly rang the bell to summon the rest of the family in from the fields.

They met in the dining room; his friend stayed in the kitchen. “So what’s hunting like?” Susan asked him, after about five minutes of watching him strain to hear something that was happening on the other side of the house.

“Bloody, mostly,” he told her, and he had to admit that it felt good to admit it. “I mean, Dad and Dean just find things that are evil and kill them.”

“They decide they’re evil,” the redhead sniffed. “What do you think?”

He considered. “I think that there is real evil out there,” he decided finally. “I’ve seen it, I’ve touched it. Been touched by it. I don’t have a problem with someone fighting it, taking it out. I have more of a problem with the idea that anything that isn’t… like them… isn’t good.” 

“So they think that all witches are bad?”

He nodded. “The thing is, something supernatural killed my mom. We don’t know what it was and we don’t even know exactly what it wanted. Just that it killed her. For them, it means that we have to dedicate our lives to wiping everything supernatural from the face of the earth.” He grabbed his hair and started pulling, as though that would help anything. “I can’t deal with this!”

“Sam, stop!” she ordered, gently disengaging his hands. “They wouldn’t hurt your family!” She took a deep breath. “So you don’t agree, then? With the whole revenge plan thing?”

“I didn’t know her. They won’t talk about her, I’m not even allowed to ask questions about her. So no. I mean, sure, if something’s hurting innocent people I don’t mind helping out, but I’m not willing to dedicate my life – to basically end my life – because of someone I didn’t even know. I didn’t know her but I can’t imagine that’s what she wanted for her kids.” 

Susan shook her head. “No one would. No mother would. You have no idea what the thing wanted?”

He swallowed, sweating. “Um. Dad thinks it’s me.” 

Her eyes bulged. “What?”

“I – I knew they were lying to me about stuff a couple of years ago so I stole my dad’s journal and read it. He thinks it was after me.” Sam’s hands shook as he spoke, but it felt good to speak about it to someone. The words were out there; someone knew. “It’s why he hates me. I wish they’d killed me instead of her. Then they could have their real life, Dean would be safe and have both of his parents the way he remembers them.” 

“Oh, Sam!” Big, wet tears rolled down Susan’s face as she threw her arms around him again. “No, please, don’t say that! I don’t – I’m glad it wasn’t you. I mean it’s sad about your mom and stuff but I’m so glad that you lived. I’m so glad that you came here and I got to know you!” 

He put awkward arms around her and patted her on the back. Winchesters didn’t do comfort, they rubbed some dirt in it and walked it off, but somehow he didn’t think that was going to work here. “Hey, it’s okay. Susan, it’s okay. I’m okay. I’m right here. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry.” 

“No, but it’s not right for anyone to make you feel that way!” she insisted. “It’s not!” He shrugged. “They’re sad, Susan. I mean, Dean lost his mom. Dad lost his wife. It’s going to do something to them. They’re going to want to take it out on someone. And they’re right. But hey – are you learning to be a witch?”

She nodded. “It’s just what we’ve always done, you know? Other families go to church, we do our thing here. It’s not a big deal. We’ve never hurt anyone, we’ve never cursed anyone or even wished anyone ill.” 

“No?”

She shook her head. “We wouldn’t let someone stay if we thought they were doing something like that.” 

“I believe you,” he sighed, letting her hold his hand. “Everyone in this place is nice.” He’d never be able to convince his father of that.

The door opened. Mama Laura and Star stood in the doorway, the younger woman giving him a gentle smile. The expression on Mama Laura’s face was less easy to read. “So, Sam. I was wondering if you’d be willing to come and talk to us a little bit,” the latter invited. “We won’t ask you to hurt your family, but we want to know about what might have brought them here in the first place.” 

Sam nodded, rising shakily to his feet. Susan held his hand, chin set defiantly as they marched together toward the dining room. Star gave a little laugh and ruffled her little sister’s head as they passed, and Sam couldn’t help but feel like everything might be all right after all. 

The dining room was full, but there was room for Sam at a seat in the middle of the table. “Thanks for talking to us, Sam,” smiled Mama Christine. “Kelly tells us that your father is a hunter, and that he came here hunting a witch. Is this true?”

Sam looked at the table. “Yes ma’am.”

“What case brought him here?” This was Mama Rachel, stern at the end of the table. “We haven’t done anything that should have brought any hunters down on us that I’m aware of –“

“Ssh,” Laura frowned, waving her hand at her sister. “Let the boy speak, please. Go on, Sam. It’s not betraying anything. If nothing else, we might be able to help.” 

Sam took a deep breath. She had a good point. Wasn’t there an old saying about setting a thief to catch a thief or something like that? “Well, apparently a lot of men in the area are dying.” 

“Men die all the time,” one of the middle sisters pointed out. 

“Swarmed by a million bees? Even Africanized bees don’t swarm quite like that, and they don’t disappear again, and they don’t appear this far north,” Sam countered, giving the teen a glare. “There was another one, I think this is the one that caught Dad’s attention in the first place, that had a guy getting trampled to death by his own cattle. Another died in auto- auto-“

“Thank you, Sam,” Kelly interrupted, turning as red as a beet. “I remember seeing that article and I think that’s enough. We get the point.”

“I don’t know what that means though,” he persisted.

“We’ll explain when you’re older,” Star muttered, also scarlet. “Please, continue.” 

“It was the trampled to death by his own cows that made him think something supernatural was up,” he told them. “He thought vengeful spirit at first. That’s most of what he sees. It was the bees that made him think witchcraft, and even that was only after I found the hex bag.” 

“That must have been pretty observant of you,” Sam,” Mama Christine told him with a smile. “Most of the witches who curse people in that way will go to some great lengths to hide the hex bag. Did you touch the bag at all?”

“No ma’am. I pointed it out, and my dad grabbed it with a piece of silk or what looked like silk.” 

“Good plan,” Kelly nodded. “Silk has excellent insulating properties. You might want to consider keeping some on hand at all times yourself, if you’re going to be encountering this kind of thing a lot. That’s when he changed his focus to witchcraft.” 

“Yes, ma’am. I don’t think he suspects you. He told me I can come over here whenever I can get myself here, and he’d never let me do that if he suspected anything supernatural was going on.” He shook his head, hair whipping at his eyes. 

“Did he notice anything else about the men?” Laura pressed.

Sam bit his lip. “They weren’t very nice,” he tried, glancing at the younger women in the room. “They seemed to have some problems with women. Or children. Mostly women.”

The mothers and Star shook their heads. “I don’t like the idea of just letting a hunter handle this,” Laura stated. “I understand that this witch, whoever she is, is causing problems for everyone and is doing something wrong, but she’s an internal problem. The community needs to deal with her as a community. Hunters are…” She shifted, glancing at Sam. “I don’t like letting outsiders handle this, is all.” 

“Hunters have a tendency to shoot first and not ask questions at all,” Rachel explained, pulling her shirt aside just enough to reveal a scar near her clavicle. 

Sam winced. “I’m sorry – I hope that wasn’t my dad. I don’t think he’s ever been around here before.” 

“Not your fault, son,” she murmured, a small smile coming to her face. “Anyway, I agree with Laura. This isn’t something we can let outsiders handle. Nothing good ever comes from letting outsiders get involved with our business. They start to get these incendiary impulses.” 

All of the adults shuddered. Susan grabbed Sam’s hand and he put an arm around her shoulders, mostly on instinct. “I don’t… I don’t want my dad to find the witch either,” he whispered. “I mean, what if they can be stopped without killing them?”

Kelly’s eyes brightened. “What do you mean?” 

He fidgeted. “I’m not really sure what I mean. I don’t know anything about any of this stuff. My dad doesn’t even want me knowing about the case. My brother shows me the notes when my dad goes out at night. Neither Dean nor I have ever seen a witchcraft case before. But you guys would know better than I would, wouldn’t you? If there was a way to stop the witch from hurting people without killing her?”

“Here’s the thing, though,” Laura said, leaning forward. “You’re a hunter’s kid. Why do you care if a witch gets killed? Especially if she’s killing people?”

He shifted. “She obviously thinks she’s doing a service,” he shrugged. “These guys have all done some terrible things and they’ve gotten away with it, for the most part. She probably thinks that she’s protecting the world in ways that the legal system can’t or won’t. That doesn’t make her evil. Pastor Jim says that hunting’s supposed to be about fighting evil.” 

The adults nodded slowly, exchanging nods. “So. Sam,” Star began. “We were talking. It seems like you might have some misconceptions about spellwork and magic. We were wondering if you might like to learn a little bit more that might set your mind at ease.” 

Sam shook his head violently. “I can’t,” he insisted. “I can’t do anything like that. I’m already a bad enough hunter, I can’t just go getting worse.” 

Laura’s face tightened. Kelly and Rachel exchanged looks, while Susan just put her arm around Sam and kissed the top of his head. “It’s okay, Sam,” she murmured into his ear. “You’re probably just fine.” 

“Sam, first of all, you’re not a hunter,” Christine frowned. “You’re ten. You’re a child. Secondly, don’t you think it’s a good idea to learn something about the kinds of things you’d see if you were looking for a witch? Or for a different kind of magic worker?”

“That way you’d know if you were looking at someone like us,” Kelly continued, “who only does protective magic, or at the kind of witch who hurts people.” 

“Dad wouldn’t see the difference,” Sam muttered, head down. Then he remembered how scared he’d been when his father had grabbed him and blindfolded him. “I don’t want to be him. I’m not him.” 

The women smiled. “We’re not asking you to take up witchcraft, Sam,” Rachel told him. “We’re just offering you the chance to learn something new, something that could help you further down the road.” 

“It could even help you with this case,” Laura suggested with a wink. “I mean, you’ve already recruited a team of witches to help find and stop the bad witch behind the scenes, right?”

He gave a shaky grin and nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” 

Star’s smile could have blinded the universe. “Alright, kiddo. First lesson?”

The other women relaxed around him. Some started to leave the room. “Yes?” Sam prodded, biting his nails.

“Witches love cookies.”

“They do?”

“Scientifically proven fact,” she promised him with a straight face and only a little twinkle in her eye. “Come on, let’s go whip up a batch of chocolate chip and I’ll answer some questions for you and Susan. We probably wouldn’t have started teaching Susan for another couple of years yet, but it’s not fair to bring you in on things and not her.” 

He nodded, sheepish. “I guess it wouldn’t be.” 

“Alright then.” And so all three trooped off to the kitchen, where Sam learned the ancient and arcane mystery of baking chocolate chip cookies. 

For the rest of the afternoon, Sam sat out in the sun with Susan while Star explained how magic worked. “Okay. You’re both at least a little bit familiar with the idea of the supernatural, right?” Both children nodded. “Sam, why don’t you tell me what you know about magic.”

“I don’t know anything,” he answered with a little, impudent grin. “I’ve been told that it’s kind of like cheating, though. An unfair advantage that not everyone can use.”

“Well that’s a good starting place,” she grinned, “even though it’s not true. Anyone can do magic – most kinds of magic, anyway. It’s just like a recipe. Anyone can take the chocolate chip cookie recipe, and they can follow it and they’ll get a cookie out of it at the end. Right?”

Both children nodded. Susan raised her hand. “But Star, Tabi’s cookies suck.”

“Language, Susan,” the teen chided.

“You say ‘suck’ all the time!”

“Yeah, but I’m eighteen. You’re ten. It’s different.” She made a face. “I don’t really care, but I don’t want you to get in trouble with our moms. It’s a good point, though and it brings me to the next part of the lesson. Not everyone has the same degree of talent. Some people are very gifted cooks, and some people have access to the best possible equipment. Those people will make cookies that always taste better and have better texture than people like Tabitha, who shouldn’t ever go near a kitchen.” 

Sam nibbled on his cookie. “So what you’re saying is that anyone can do, like, maybe a charm or something. Like one of the ones mentioned in the book your mom gave me. But some people have more of a flair for it?”

“Good!” Star tossed him another cookie. “Most people – like, ninety-nine percent of the world – just do the thing, and they get a little bit of whatever as a result. They’ll do a ritual for, say, good luck at the casino and sure. They’ll have slightly better chances than they’d have otherwise. They can do some other things to build up a little more power behind the ritual or to charge up a hex bag a little more, like do the ritual on a certain date or harvest the herbs in a certain way.”

“They can do their ritual as part of a coven or a group,” Susan suggested, bouncing a little. 

“Very good!” Star gave her little sister an extra cookie. “There are some witches who get extra power from some fairly sinister sources. There are ways to boost power without those sinister sources that are still pretty repulsive – I’d rather not get into that, but you’ve both got a pretty good grasp of the whole right versus wrong thing. If it seems wrong, if it feels wrong, don’t do it.

“Finally, there are some beings out there that are able to use magic. Demons, for example. The fae. There are psychics – psychics are human, like witches, but they have more ‘talent’ than regular humans. Any of those people, using the same ritual, will get stronger results.” She spread her hands wide. “Any questions so far?”

Sam worried at his lip. “Psychics are human?”

Susan nudged him. “Of course psychics are human, stupid!”

Star cleared her throat. “Hunters sometimes don’t see things the way we do, Susan. His father probably told him something different. But yes, psychics are human.” She patted the hand that didn’t have a cookie and continued.

“So the whole idea behind our coven and the way that we practice is that we’re trying to stay in harmony with nature. We don’t hurt people. We don’t go looking to ‘score big’ and get rich on magic or anything like that. We want to keep ourselves safe, we want to keep our loved ones safe, and we want to keep other people safe.” 

“What if staying safe, keeping other people safe, means that you have to hurt someone?” Sam asked, stomach fluttering.

The teen grimaced. “I don’t think that’s come up, not while I’ve been here anyway. I’ve only been practicing for a few years. We try to prevent, rather than react. It tends to work better that way.” 

He had to admit that made more sense. 

Sam and Susan spent the rest of the afternoon learning about the ideas behind how the Teall coven worked. They had dinner together, and after dinner Star brought Sam home. He’d come back on Monday for more lessons – he wanted to come back right away, but he didn’t want to tip his father off.

“Did you have fun geeking out over the garden, there, nerd?” Dean asked as Sam came through the door.

The boy bit the inside of his cheek. There was so much he couldn’t say. “Learned how to bake chocolate chip cookies,” he bragged. 

“You’re such a girl, Sammy,” Dean mocked. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam snaps, just a bit.

Dad left Sam and Dean alone after Saturday’s training session. Sam didn’t object. Training was brutal. John worked them so hard that Sam couldn’t even hold himself up by the end; of course, that could have been dehydration too. “You think you’re always going to have water with you?” John sneered when Sam asked for a water break. “You need to learn to play through the pain, princess. There’s no room for girls in this army, boy. Give me twenty pull-ups, right now!”

So Sam truly had no objections to getting left at the trailer. In fact, he would have been perfectly happy to just strip down and lie under the hose. He’d never been so happy to not have hot water in his life. Once Dad took off he did strip down to an old pair of cut-off shorts and hose down, even though Dean refused to join him. “Can’t cut off my jeans, dumbass. Have to save them all on the off chance that you’ll grow someday.”

Sam shrugged. There wasn’t much else to say to that; it was the truth. The only reason that these jeans had been cut off was that someone had badly sprained a knee and the jeans had needed to be cut off because of the swelling. He flopped down into the grass and turned to his brother. “So have you and Dad found anything new?”

“What, since Thursday or whatever?” Dean scratched at his ear. “I mean yeah, someone died weirdly yesterday but I don’t know if that counts. Dad’s off checking it out now.”

“Geez, only yesterday?” He tried to calculate the pace of the killings. “They’re getting faster.” 

“Yeah, well, you can’t explain crazy. If this one was even a witch, you know. This could have just been screwed up. His septic system exploded.” 

“Eeuw!” Sam exclaimed, jumping up and glaring at the ground. “How does your septic system just explode?”

“I dunno. We’ve never stuck around one place long enough to learn much about septic system maintenance. I guess gasses build up, from all the decaying, you know, stuff.” He made a face. “Christ it’s hot out here. I thought this far north would be like the tundra or something.”

“Apparently not.” Sam looked at the ground again. What if their septic system exploded? They hadn’t added anything to it since they moved in, thanks to the lack of a working bathroom, but stuff might still be in there.

“Anyway, I guess it’s theoretically possible. Or, you know, a witch could just hex you and make your toilet explode in rotting waste.” He cackled. “What a way to go.” He ducked his head inside and pulled out two beers from the cooler. “Here. It’s hot.” 

Sam opened his. In theory, he knew that beer was probably not the best plan when he was already dehydrated and the day hot. “Dad’ll get mad.” 

“Nah. He’ll be fine ‘long as we both stay sober. It’s just a beer, Sammy.” 

“I wasn’t saying no, Dean.” He sipped from the can, enjoying the cool liquid as it flowed down his neck. God that felt good. Maybe the Tealls could teach him a spell that would keep him cool or cool him down on days like this, because seriously, this kind of blew. “Does Dad have any ideas about suspects or anything?”

“Dude, what is with the third degree here? Since when do you even care?” Dean shook his head. “You hate hunting, Sammy.”

“I do.” He shrugged. “What does that change?”

“What do you mean?”

“Does me hating hunting mean you’re not going to do it? That you’re going to hang around here and stay safe for me?” He took another sip from his beer. Dean was a quarter of the way through his bottle already and part of Sam thought that maybe he should try to drink it faster, be more like his brother. If the other kids got their hands on beers, they’d try to drink it faster. Sam knew better. Drinking beer too fast would just make him stupid and give him a headache later. Still, the temptation was there.

“Sammy, don’t start with me. You know that can’t happen.” Dean looked away. “Even if I wanted to, which I don’t, you know it can’t happen.”

“Right. So. If you have an extra set of eyes looking at the problem you’re more likely to come out of this safely, since you’re not going to do the really safe thing and not go messing with powerful witches who like to hurt people.” He sighed. 

“I guess that makes sense,” Dean agreed. “But you know what would really go a long way toward keeping us safe in the long term? You not fighting Dad. Just shut up, do what you’re told, knuckle under and train. He’s trying to mold you into someone who can be safe.”

“No, Dean. He’s trying to mold me into you, and I’m not you. I’m never going to be you. You’re awesome and all, sure, but my body isn’t yours and my brain isn’t yours and he’s not even doing a very good job of trying to turn me into you.” Sam jumped to his feet and he could hear his voice rising. “He taught you to shoot patiently. He just screams and hits me and hopes I’ll somehow figure it out from there. He explains crap to you. He doesn’t think he needs to do that with me because I’ll never need to think for myself. That’s bullshit and you know it.”

“It’s Dad, Sammy. He knows what you’re capable of, what I’m capable of. You have to trust him. We have to trust him. He’s kept us safe this long, he knows what he’s doing.” Dean’s words were calm but his face had clamped down again, getting that same kind of stony look that Dad got to it. 

“I don’t have to trust shit,” Sam hissed out. “When he gives me a reason to trust him, maybe. But not one minute before.” He stalked back into the stifling, overheated trailer.

The heat wave continued on Sunday. Training also continued, with escape training and running and extra-hard sparring because Sam had walked away from his brother and Dean hated that almost as much as he hated witches. If his father noticed any additional heat behind Dean’s attacks he didn’t say anything about it, except to praise Dean’s “fire.” 

Sam wasn’t going to just sit back and take it. Sure, Dean wanted Sam to give in and accept his place. Sam’s needs, Sam himself, didn’t figure into the picture much and the boy was angry about it. He fought back hard, not holding back as much as he usually did because he didn’t want to hurt anyone. Dean hadn’t been prepared for the hard defense and while larger, stronger Dean still left bruises that went straight to Sam’s bones, Sam was able to take down his brother a good half of the time.

John watched through narrow eyes as his youngest son’s rage channeled itself into physical action. “Looks like little Sammy’s got something to say,” he purred, and Sam hated that tone in his father’s voice. “You’ve been holding back on me, Sammy. Got something you want to tell us?”

“Sir,” Sam growled, chest heaving. 

“I’m pretty sure you can use more words than that,” the patriarch continued, coming closer. “You bloodied your brother’s face with your knuckles, Sam. Is that what you wanted to do?”

“Is that what you call keeping us safe?” Sam smirked through gritted teeth, and Dean gasped. As a matter of fact, Sam had wanted to bloody Dean’s face with his knuckles. Dean had bloodied Sam’s nose with his own fist, after all.

John’s face darkened at the defiance, and he raised his hand to backhand his son. Sam blocked, the force of his father’s arm enough to land a new bruise. John’s eyes widened in shock, but Sam didn’t stop with a forbidden block. He stepped in and punched John in the gut, as hard as he could.

His father folded around the blow, and Sam knew he wouldn’t get in another lucky shot. John hadn’t been expecting it. He danced backward, out of the way of his father’s grasping hand. If he couldn’t extend his reach he needed to find some way of closing in, making it harder for John to use his own size against Sam. He grabbed a handful of dirt and flung it at John’s eyes, and when John blindly groped out for him he nabbed him with a right hook to the jaw.

Adrenaline burned through Sam’s veins as he circled his enraged father. He knew that this couldn’t last; John would catch up to him eventually and then there would be hell to pay. Right here, though, and right now, he didn’t care. His blood boiled with defiance and success and rage and resentment. When his father reached out again for him, Sam blocked. When John dove for him, Sam used the older man’s own momentum to send him to the ground.

He didn’t wait for his opponent to get up. Everything was starting to bleed together, bullies and monsters and resentment and rage and every time he’d wanted to stand up for himself and had been too scared. He wasn’t even seeing his father now, just another faceless creature that could have been any other ghost or ghoul or thing that their father set them against. The rush of adrenaline warred with the emotions in his head. He jumped on top of the creature, raining down blows without seeing or even feeling.

Strong arms pulled him away. He howled as he fought against his captor, wordless and enraged until a blast of cold water caught him square in the chest. Clarity trickled back in, and with it pain. John, eyes hard and furious, stalked toward him and backhanded him with the full force of his strength as Dean held him still. “Don’t you ever think that you get to raise a hand to me, boy,” his father snarled.

Sam spat blood at the man. “Need someone to hold down a ten year old for you?”

“I will be obeyed, you spoiled little brat.” He turned swollen, blackened eyes to Dean. “Get his shirt off.” 

Sam took the belting with laughter. The blows hurt, of course they hurt. They were intended to hurt, to humiliate and to cut into the skin. At the same time, they were being delivered by a man who’d had his face bloodied and battered by the son he derided as weak and useless and worthless. So Sam laughed, even though his laughter seemed to deepen the welts.

Once his father had finished venting his rage onto his youngest, he banished Sam to the sweltering trailer. The boy had no problem with his expulsion; why would he? It got him away from his family, if only briefly. He was close enough to still hear their conversation, though. “I don’t know what in the hell got into that boy,” Dad told Dean, sitting heavily against the stairs leading up to the doorway. “I’ve never seen him fight like that! Do you think it could be the witch?”

Dean paused. “So far the witch hasn’t used any of the victim’s, uh, victims to go after them.”

“What do you mean?”

“Her targets are all men that hurt women or kids, sir. And the witch hasn’t used the women or kids to go after the men.” Dean’s voice was carefully neutral. 

“Hurt kids? Dean, I’ve never hurt either of you boys!”

Sam’s back begged to differ.

“I know that sir, but I don’t think the witch would see it that way. And since we’re trying to figure out if Sam got possessed by the witch, it makes sense to consider what she usually goes after and how she thinks about things. Sir.” Dean cleared his throat. “I think he’s just. You know. Screwed up.”

“There’s no place for crazy in this business,” John told him after a second.

“Not crazy, just screwed up. He’s not… he’s not like us, Dad,” Dean sighed. “He’s not a fighter.”

“My broken nose disagrees,” John told him. Sam felt a little thrill of victory.

“That’s not what I meant. He’ll dig in his heels when he knows he’s right, don’t get me wrong. But he’d rather think, find another way. He’d rather be safe than go out and fight something head on.”

“He’s a coward,” John sneered. “We’ll beat that out of him soon enough.”

“Sir – don’t you think what happened today was kind of… you know, not good? I mean, he went after you because he doesn’t…. never mind, sir.”

“He needs to learn to trust me, Dean. He needs to learn to trust me and to do what the fuck he’s told or it’s going to get worse for him.” John grunted; presumably Dean was applying some kind of first aid to him. “The hell was going on between the two of you earlier, anyway? You don’t think that set him off as much as anything else?”

“Ah, we had a fight. Nothing much, you know.” 

“Must’ve been something I’ve never seen him fight so hard when he was sparring.” John sounded pained.

“He, uh, he doesn’t like hunting. Thinks you’re putting us in danger instead of keeping us safe. That’s what we fought about, sir.” Dean’s voice was barely audible through the door. 

“Goddamn arrogant little shit,” Dad growled. “Thinks he knows better than I do. He’s going to have to learn.”

“That’s what I told him, sir.” Dean’s voice moved, footsteps over gravel. “He had an argument for everything.”

Dad sighed. “I so don’t have time for this. I can’t save this county from witches and teach him to obey at the same time. Obviously I’ve gone too easy on him. After this is over, I’m taking the two of you up into the woods somewhere and I’m going to focus on getting him under control. I can’t have this, Dean. I just can’t.” 

Dean let out a little sound, somewhere between a groan and a grunt. “Sir.”

“I can’t fight him and the other monsters out there.”

“No, sir.” Dean leaned against the trailer wall, metal groaning under his weight.

Sam lay back against the couch, little caring about the stains to the sheet. His father had just called him a monster. His father, who killed monsters, had just called him a monster.

Well, what had he really expected? He’d known his father felt that way ever since he’d read the journal. He couldn’t afford to get hung up on his own fears or stuff like that. “We have to find the witch first, sir,” Dean was saying. “Any ideas about a suspect?”

“Well, she’s a woman,” John shot back. “We can be pretty sure of that.”

Sam rolled his eyes. Men could get defensive of women and children too, although he also thought that the perpetrator was probably a woman. God, it was hot in here. He thought about opening a window, but he knew that he’d just get in worse trouble.

“She’s probably some kind of feminist,” Dad continued. “I mean, she’s making her views pretty well known here. She’s not willing to just sit back and let the justice system handle things, she’s got to take matters into her own hands, see? Tell you what. How about you and me head into town and we’ll look for some meetings and stuff on message boards. Maybe we’ll get a lead that way.”

“Sir. Should we bring Sam?” Dean stood up. Probably stood straight up to attention, too, Sam thought meanly. 

“Nah, let him stew in there,” Dad said after a minute. “Maybe he can sweat out some of whatever the fuck his problem is.” 

Sam heard the Impala drive off; neither Winchester had even bothered coming inside to clean up before heading out.

The boy carefully opened up a window and climbed outside. Maybe he was a monster. Maybe that was why he always felt so filthy all of the time, underneath his skin. Maybe there was something deeply wrong with him. Hell, maybe Dad should just go ahead and kill him; it wasn’t like he was going to do anything useful with his life. That didn’t give his father the right to go dragging Dean into danger, to brainwash Dean into some kind of soldier. No matter how often they told him that “sons are soldiers, boy,” and “it’s Dad, so we have to trust him,” he knew that much was true.

He used the hose to clean himself up. Monster. He remembered Mrs. Lyle, remembered the psychic Silas. Dad didn’t think he remembered, thought that somehow a child’s brain just wiped itself clean every night like some kind of neurological chalkboard. Or maybe he just thought that way about Sam’s brain; either way, he’d never tried to talk to Sam about either of those incidents. Sam remembered them, though. He remembered every detail right down to the stink of Silas’ viscera on the ceiling or the sound of Dad and Mrs. Lyle as they – well, he might remember but there were parts he didn’t want to dwell on. Being a monster would explain a lot.

Shouldn’t a monster be able to do something, though? He wasn’t anything special. He was just a kid. A small kid, not very strong and not very fast and not very smart from everything he was told. He was pretty sure most monsters could at least run fast or punch through things. Crap. He wasn’t even much of a monster. 

He could still do whatever he could find to keep Dean safe. Monster or not, Dean was still his brother and he loved him. 

He made sure he got back into the trailer before John dropped Dean back off, closing the window and making sure that the salt line had stayed intact. Dean surveyed the scene. “Dude, you bled on my sheet, asswipe,” he complained. 

Sam wrinkled his nose at his brother. “Where else did you expect me to sit?”

“I don’t know, just not getting your blood on my bedding, man! Gross!” Dean flopped down on the couch. “You really pissed him off, you know. You shouldn’t have flown off the handle like that.” 

“Yeah, I know. It’s okay for him but not for me.” Sam sneered. “So what did you find out?” He got up and went to fix his brother a sandwich.

“What do you mean?” Dean froze. 

“When you went to go scour town for message boards looking for feminist meeting groups or whatever.” He scoffed when Dean’s eyes bulged. “Dude. The walls of this trailer are paper-thin and you were right there. It’s not like you were trying to hide the conversation from me.” 

“So you heard everything, huh?” Dean shook his head. 

“Not like any of it was news,” Sam shrugged. 

“You can’t fight him, Sammy. “You have to give in. He knows what he’s doing.” Dean watched him make the sandwich. “I mean, I don’t see why you can’t just accept that.”

“Let’s just drop it, Dean. You already know the answer. We each think that the other one is screwed up; fighting isn’t going to make it any better.” He might have used a little more force than necessary in cutting the sandwich in half. “Did you find anything out?”

“Nah. Well, maybe. We found a few domestic violence support groups. Figure you look like shit, maybe we should send you in as a decoy and see what you can find out.” He took a bite of the sandwich.

“Yeah, because that’s exactly what we need. The witch coming after Dad.” He rolled his eyes.

“Figured you’d be all over that, since you hate the man so much.” 

“He’s the one who thinks I’m a monster and wants to kill me, Dean. But if a witch killed Dad, we’d be separated.” He went back and washed the knife with which he’d made the sandwich. “I don’t want to hunt, I want to be safe. And I want you to be safe. Letting the state split us up doesn’t accomplish that.” 

“Then quit antagonizing Dad and do your fucking job.” 

Sam folded his lips together, unfolded his bedroll and lay down.

His whole body ached by the time he woke up, but he’d expected that. He felt that little thrill run through him when he saw the bruising on his father as they prepared for their run, though. That made the pain worth it, even as his father deliberately turned his back on him to begin the run. When they got back he cleaned himself up and got ready to head out to the Teall Farm for another lesson. John’s lip curled, but he didn’t object. “Enjoy your freedom, boy,” he growled. “As soon as this mess is over, it’s boot camp for you.” 

“Whatever. I heard everything.” Sam rolled his eyes. 

A dangerous glint came into his father’s eyes, and Dean buried his face in his hands. “You won’t be saying ‘whatever’ by the time I’m through with you,” he promised.

“What are you going to do, huh? Kill me?” He grabbed his notebooks and ran out the door, eager to meet up with Star before his father could start in on him again.

Star was ready and waiting at the driveway. “Sam, are you okay?” she demanded, turning to look at him. “You look awful.” 

“Training accident,” he lied smoothly. “It happens sometimes.” He pulled the heavy door closed behind himself and buckled himself in, forcing himself not to wince as his back touched the back of the seat. “How was your weekend?”

The other moms all clucked in consternation and shook their heads when they saw his bruises, and Mama Rachel took him by the hand and brought him straight into a little room off the dining room. “You wanted to learn about herbalism,” she told him with a grim little smile. “This is a balm that’s soothing to bruises. It should help them to fade sooner. No spellwork of any kind, I promise, but I’m going to give you a jar and I’m going to write down the recipe, okay? That way you can make it for yourself.” She winked at him. “Don’t worry, it’s all stuff you can find pretty easily.” 

Once she’d rubbed a healthy portion of the stuff into the bruises she could see – there was no way he was taking his shirt off to let her see the welts, no way in hell – she did write down the recipe. As Star and Susan went about their farm chores Rachel took Sam aside and worked with him to make a new batch of the balm. The work was hot, and Sam hadn’t ever had a kitchen to be much good in, but he focused carefully and listened to instruction and managed to come up with a product of reasonable quality. 

Once they’d finished the first batch and put it aside, ten little Mason jars all nice and sealed, Sam licked his lips. “Um, what if we were to replace some of the water with holy water?” he asked. “And use some sage in the mix?” 

The dark-haired woman tilted her head to the side. “Why would you want to do that?”

“Well, sometimes hunters get into dust-ups with things that poison you. And holy water can help clear out the poison. If you could make a balm that helped to draw out the poison and maybe helped purify the wound a little while also helping the bruises to heal faster, it might be helpful. I mean, not necessarily to you or your usual customers,” he added, blushing. “Forget it, it’s stupid.”

She ruffled his hair. “It’s not stupid, Sam,” she told him, putting her arm around his shoulders gently. “I think it’s a great idea. And maybe add a blessing over it.” She winked. “That’s kind of a very basic spell, Sam. Nice work. Let’s see how it turns out.” 

They tried a batch, and nothing blew up. Sam’s hands trembled as he spoke the words of the blessing from memory, something very simple that Pastor Jim had taught him before he’d even known what his father did. Something very faint tickled at the back of his mind as he spoke the words and prepared to ladle the balm into the jars, something he mentioned to Rachel as he worked. She raised an eyebrow. “Interesting,” she told him. “You may have a little bit of latent psychic ability in you, Sam.” 

“I’m not special,” he insisted, stepping back from the pots. “I’m not.”

“It’s okay,” she assured him, hands on his arms. “It’s not a bad thing. A lot of people have that, just a little bit of something, like a feeling or a hint of intuition. It’s okay. It just means that you can feel things like that. Not a big deal, Sam. Nothing to be ashamed of. Not around here, anyway. You’ve got nothing to hide here.” She patted his hair gently. “It’s okay.” 

He forced himself to relax. No one was trying to hurt him. “I… okay.” He took a deep breath. Could a monster have even uttered a blessing? “Yeah. Okay.” He smiled up at his teacher. “Thanks.” 

“Hunters,” she muttered. “How are you feeling with the regular stuff? Any better?”

He had to admit that he was. “Yeah, a bit. That stuff is pretty awesome.” 

“Well, people back in the old days didn’t have pharmaceutical companies. They had what they could grow, and they made stuff out of it. They used what they had to make their lives better and easier, just like people do today. Modern people needed to make stuff in larger quantities, and faster, so we got into mass production. But the older ways still work, and sometimes they work better.” She winked. “Come on, we’ll let these set up and cool and we can talk about making tinctures.” 

Sam and Rachel spent the rest of the morning talking about the different ways to extract the useful parts of herbs from the plants, whether or not that was drying them, or soaking them in alcohol, or soaking them in oil, or grinding them into a powder. Some of these things were probably going to be difficult to get away with for him; it wasn’t like he was ever going to have a kitchen to use, or canning equipment. Or a place to dry lavender for six months. But some of them he could definitely pull off, assuming that he could keep Dad and Dean out of the vodka.

He helped clean up, and then he helped Mama Kelly with the lunch to the extent that he was able. She had to admit that his knife skills were exemplary, a fact that she found disturbing. 

After lunch Star talked to him and Susan about magic and some of the ways that it worked – the different things that went into constructing a spell. Sam paid attention, thinking of the different things that made up the hex bag that had been found with the guy who’d been killed by bees. Some of the herbs made some sense, he guessed, given what he now knew about their traditional associations. And the bee. And the use of the man’s own personal clothing. He raised his hand. “But my brother talks about… um. Bodily fluids,” he said, blushing. “Like, he was pretty convinced that witches use bodily fluids in all of their spells. Why does he think that?”

The teen blushed. “Well, he’s not wrong, exactly. There are some spells that are made stronger by the use of some kinds of parts of the body. For a curse, if you can get some parts of the victim, like hair or fingernails, it will work best. Or some of their blood – not that I want to ever hear anything about either of you doing curses on anyone,” she added with a stern glare. “You can use some of your own blood, too, if you want to add power to a spell, but that’s tricky. Blood magic is kind of a gray area even if you’re using your own; if you’re using someone else’s it’s always nasty stuff. I’d stay away from it if I were you. There’s other kind of bodily fluids, urine or saliva or… you know. Other things.” She blushed. “This is why we usually wait until you’re older.”

Sam and Susan glanced at each other and blushed deeply. “It’s oaky, we can talk about that another time,” the latter mumbled. 

“Please,” Sam added, nodding feverently. It wasn’t that he didn’t know about sex stuff, it was that he didn’t want to think about it. 

“Right. Moving right along. We also use some other elements. Sometimes we’ll use incense, or candles of a specific type or color.” She continued the lecture, discussing how they would sometimes burn herbs in this or that type of bowl or do things at a specific time of day or under a given phase of the moon. Apparently some kinds of energies waxed or waned at certain times or could be helped with certain aids. It all sounded a bit New Agey to Sam, and he could almost hear his father’s sneering voice in the background asking if he was going to read the future in a crystal ball too. Then he remembered what he’d felt at the back of his head when he’d made the second batch of balm and shut himself up.

Star only lectured them for a couple of hours. After a quiz, she dispatched them to go play. “You should have some fun, go run and enjoy yourselves,” she grinned. “You’re ten. That’s what being ten is for.” 

Sam knew being ten wasn’t for playing, not if the ten year old in question was a Winchester. At the same time, he was going to get dragged off to “boot camp” when his father found the witch, so he resolved to make the most of his reprieve.

After dinner, before he went home, he asked if they’d made any progress toward figuring out who the rogue witch was. Laura frowned at him. “I thought we made it pretty clear that it was an internal matter, Sam,” she pointed out.

“You did,” he assured her. “And I agree. I mean, I’m on board, I’m not trying to take it from you or anything. I’d rather my father not do any killing if he doesn’t have to. But if I can do something to steer him away, then I want to do it.” 

She considered. “We’re not sure who she is yet, but we think she might live in in Preble or thereabouts.” 

Sam nodded. “Awesome. Thanks. I’ll try to keep him clear of Preble, then. If I can. He doesn’t exactly listen to me, but I’ll talk to my brother and see if that gets me anywhere.” 

Her lips twitched a little. “Does your dad get a little rough with you sometimes, Sam?”

“All dads do,” he told her quickly. “It’s just training. We’re in – they’re in – a rough line of work and he wants to make sure we’re ready.” 

“Hm. Well, you be safe, Sam.” 

Sam smiled at her. “I’m trying, ma’am.” 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam gets to play the hero. It doesn't last.

Sam had some anxiety about bringing home his jars of salve – one with the holy water, one without. He knew that his family knew that he was learning about herbs and their uses, so in theory there shouldn’t be a huge problem with the stuff. Sam wasn’t willing to bet on theory, not between his father’s mercurial temperament or what he’d heard. He held his breath when he got back to the trailer that night, waiting for either Dad or Dean to say something about the fact that he was moving more easily or the way that his bruises just looked better. No one said anything. He thought he caught them looking, especially Dean, but neither of them addressed him directly and he didn’t notice any signs that his stuff had been messed with so by the time he went to bed he could breathe a little easier. 

He did keep the jars in his bookbag, though. Just in case.

To some extent he felt guilty about hiding them. They were useful. They weren’t bad. The first one wasn’t even questionably innocent; it was literally just herbs and the right stuff to smear it onto the skin. The other stuff was just holy water and a blessing on top of that. It shouldn’t be something to be ashamed of, something to hide, not anymore than blessing holy water itself should be. 

Then again, Dad never asked Sam to bless the holy water either.

He didn’t know for sure that Dad would be upset if he found out about the jars, but he had a pretty good idea that they’d come off better if they came from Dean. And Dean – anything that even remotely smacked of witchcraft, right now, would probably earn Sam shaving cream instead of mayonnaise on his sandwich. If he was lucky, he thought with a shudder. He knew what his brother was capable of.

Neither his brother nor his father would be likely to listen to him on the subject, and he was going to keep learning because someone should know this stuff and because he truly didn’t see a moral problem with what he was doing. So he kept his mouth shut. The jars got hidden in a pair of socks so they didn’t make a lot of noise, and they stayed in his backpack so Dad and Dean didn’t find them in a fit of snooping. His notebook, the one he used for his lessons with the Tealls, stayed with him at all times as well.

The library program continued. They had moved on to the Indiana Jones movies, and Sam had to admit that he enjoyed those just as much as he liked Star Wars. Dean told him that a college professor was a boring job, but Indiana Jones was kind of a superhero too. “Except for the parts where he just kind of sleeps with women and then leaves them,” Susan pointed out, wrinkling her nose. “That’s not very heroic. It’s kind of sleazy.” 

Sam scratched his head. “I mean, I know some people get married, but I think it’s kind of the normal thing?” It didn’t seem terribly appealing to Sam, but he knew he was a freak. 

“What? No!” His friend swatted him with the end of one of her braids. “Sam, that’s disgusting! Those girls all think they’ve got something permanent with him and he’s got no intention of sticking around! That’s just mean!” 

“Oh.” He shrugged. “I don’t know. I mean, it’s kind of what my dad does, what most of the people he knows do.” He blushed. “I mean, I don’t see the point but it seems to be normal.”

“It’s not,” Star told him in a firm tone. “Believe me. This is probably a better conversation for someone else to have with you, but I guess no one else seems to be doing that so… whatever. There’s a time and a place for casual relationships, I guess, but most people want to have some kind of relationship with their partner. Even if you do choose to be purely casual, which isn’t the safest thing in the world, it’s only okay if everyone involved knows you’re going to be casual – if no one’s expecting you to come back.” 

Sam thought about that for a moment. He’d known his family wasn’t exactly typical, but it hit him then just how weird they were. “What’s that like?”

“What – a relationship? Your father or brother must have dated someone at some point.” She ruffled his hair a little. 

He shook his head. “My brother hits on girls but he’s not close with any of them, really. I think I know their names better than they do sometimes.” He glanced around, but most of the other kids were out of the room. “Dad isn’t a big fan of letting us have friends or stuff outside the family, you know?”

“That’s dumb,” Susan told him with a toss of her hair. “Someday you’re going to move out, and how will you live then?” 

“I’m pretty sure Dad doesn’t plan to ever let me move out.” He kicked at the leg of his chair. 

“When you’re eighteen you can do whatever you want, Sam,” Star informed. She sat on the edge of the table. “He can’t legally keep you with him.” 

Sam couldn’t find the words to explain the situation. Dad had never let legalities stop him before, and what about Dean? Was he supposed to just leave Dean behind him? Still the thought was intriguing.

Dad went out that night, “scouting,” Dean wanted to play some poker, but Sam talked him into giving him some of the details about the case first. The senior Winchesters looked into the background of the man whose septic system exploded and found that he fit the pattern of witchcraft victims, which surprised no one. “The guy was a real piece of work, Sammy,” his brother declaimed, shaking his head as he dealt the cards. “He did time for beating his wife so bad she almost died. That’s not all,” he added, “but you’re too little to hear about it.” 

Sam scoffed. “Wasn’t too little to hear you and Daisy Rourke that time she came over and Dad was away, back in West Virginia.”

“What? You were asleep!” Dean spluttered, dropping the cards and blushing. That was the great thing about having such a fair-skinned brother, Sam decided. He blushed so nicely.

“Not once the two of you started up. Anyway, did you guys go and find the hex bag?”

“You’re assuming that there was a hex bag, Sammy. You know what happens when you assume.” The elder brother wagged a finger at the younger.

Sam threw a card at him. “You already were an ass, I can’t make one out of ‘u.’ Come on. Did you find the hex bag?”

“We did. I don’t know how it survived the explosion, and I don’t mind telling you that was one of the nastiest crime scenes that I’ve ever been to – and I’ve been to cattle mutilations, Sammy.” Dean opened a beer. “Nasty. Friggin’ witches, man. Friggin’ witches.”

Sam growled. “So do you still have it?”

“What? No we don’t still have it. We burned it. What do you think we are, stupid? Not only is it a hex bag, which mean’s it’s basically magically radioactive, but it’s covered in… you know… stuff from the guy’s exploded septic system. It’s unsanitary, like everything else witches do. You don’t hang onto hex bags and play with them, dumbass. You burn them and wash your hands with soap and water for at least thirty seconds.” Dean shivered. “Gross, man.”

Sam closed his eyes and silently counted to ten. “Okay. Well, do you remember what was in it?”

“What do you care? You don’t know anything about witches, Sammy.” Dean shrugged and started shuffling the cards.

“No,” he lied. “But I know something about the area and I know something about the local flora. I might be able to narrow down your suspect pool based on some of the things you found.” 

“Huh. Okay. Makes sense. Well, Dad thought that he found some coriander seed in there. Coriander and I think he said ‘black hellebore.’” Cards started to fly from Dean’s scarred hands as he began to deal the cards.

“Okay…” Sam bit his lip. “I mean I know you can cook with coriander.” He got up and grabbed the appropriate section of the herbal text he’d copied out for the family. “Yeah. Both of them are used in ‘spells of wrath and vengeance.’” 

“Get out,” the teen scoffed, grabbing the notebook out of his brother’s hands. “You’re making that up. The people who wrote that textbook did not write down what witches use herbs for.”

“People weren’t always so opposed to magic, Dean,” Sam pointed out. “There was a time when it was the only game in town. I mean, plants do have medicinal properties, right?” When Dean nodded, the boy continued. “So people probably just started thinking of certain plants as having other properties too. If they’re writing down things about plants, it makes sense to want to be thorough.” 

“’It makes sense to want to be thorough,’” Dean mimicked. “Oh my God could you be any geekier?”

“Not the point, Dean. The point is that it’s definitely our witch.” Sam picked up his cards and bit his tongue. He had a pair of threes and that was all. Maybe he’d get lucky if he discarded the three cards that weren’t threes. 

“We already knew that, Sammy. It was the fact that the guy was a wife beater who died badly, with a hex bag in the mix, that provided that vital clue.” Dean gave a bright, smarmy smile. 

“Shut up.” He picked up his new cards. Not bad – three fives. Not great, but not bad. “What else was in there?”

“What do you mean, ‘what else was in there?’ Um, I think there were some tiny little bones, some kind of dirt and maybe some kind of wax. Before you ask, no, I don’t know what kind of wax. Dad didn’t say and he wouldn’t let me touch it to get a closer view.”

Sam chewed on his fingernails. The little bones, he knew, strongly suggested something dark. Well, what had he expected? The witch was killing people with magic, giving them horrific deaths. The wax and the herbs were pretty par for the course, though. “Okay. Well, I think that the hellebore is the weirdest thing you’ve mentioned, and a lot of people use it as a decorative plant. But I have some ideas on who might know someone who fits our description and buys garden plants.”

“Great! Give me the name and address and Dad and I will head on over to talk to them.” Dean perked up.

“Dean,” Sam sighed. “They see me covered in bruises all the time. I don’t think that letting them meet Dad face to face is necessarily in anyone’s best interests, you know?”

Dean’s face darkened. “What are you saying, Sammy? Are you making accusations?”

“No, Dean! I wouldn’t do that!” Sam shot back, heat behind his words. “You know better! We both know that they’d separate us if they busted Dad for anything. The thing is, they don’t know about hunting, they don’t know about training, they don’t know about your Mom. All they see is a banged-up kid. I tell them the same things that we always tell people but I just don’t think that having Dad there, interrogating people, would convince them that this was a safe home environment. Okay? So let’s just, you know, keep them apart. Alright?”

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “Sammy, he’s doing the best he can.”

“Not the point, Dean. The point is keeping them out of Winchester business. Right?” He forced himself to meet his brother’s eyes and to choke back on everything he wanted to say.

“Right.” Dean looked away first.

No one cared if Sam went to “herbalism” class the next day. He worked with Mama Rachel on actual herbalism in the morning, just like before, and helped out with lunch as a thank-you. After lunch they learned about different types of magic from Star before being dismissed to go run and play. Before he went home, though, he took Star aside and told her about the hex bag that his father and Dean had found. She told him that she’d look into it.

Thursday was library day. Sam used his time to study some of the local patterns of domestic violence. Maybe they could get a handle on who was casting these spells by getting a handle on that side of things – who would be able to find the victims, who would have the most interest in punishing people that they felt got off too lightly.

Afterward, Sam walked home alone. Star had offered him a ride, but he wanted the chance to clear his head and to come up with believable stories to tell his father that would keep the hunters and witches separated. Her face fell a little. “You shouldn’t have to be worried about something like that, Sam,” she told him, stroking his hair with a sad look on her face. “I wish you could just go play and be a normal kid.” 

“I don’t think that was ever going to happen,” he admitted. “I don’t think it could have happened. But thanks, you know?” He grinned a little.

He noticed something a little bit different as soon as he got to the trailer, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Besides, if he went around freaking out about a general sense of unease or something seeming “not quite right” every time he noticed something of the sort he’d never stop. When he let himself into the trailer, though, his sense of foreboding was proven correct.

Dad lay on the floor of the trailer, face red, drenched in sweat. His teeth had locked together in a grotesque kind of leer, but Sam wasn’t sure how much he was really seeing. “Dad?” Sam asked, rushing forward. “What’s wrong?” He stripped off his long button-down shirt, throwing it onto the back of a chair so it wouldn’t get in the way.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with him, Sammy!” Dean objected. His face had lost all color except for the freckles, and he gazed up from his father’s side like Sam was the elder brother. “He just fell down like this!”

“How long ago?” the boy demanded, putting a hand to his father’s bare skin. The man was burning up; he almost wanted to go and get a cold-water bath. 

“About an hour,” Dean reported, wiping his own brow and sagging back. “He was in the middle of a sentence when all of a sudden – this.” He gestured at Sam. 

Sam hissed. “Fuck.” 

“Watch your language, kid,” Dean reminded. 

“It’s the witch.” Sam stood up. “We need to find the hex bag.” He went to the weapons bag, sitting out on the table, and grabbed an iron knife. “So I don’t touch it accidentally,” he explained when Dean looked at him like he had three heads. 

Dean nodded. “Where do you think it is?”

“Well, how long have you guys been home?” He turned back to his dad. “Screw it. You look in here; I’ll check the car. He doesn’t look like he’s got much time.”

Sam raced outside and opened the door to the Impala. With Dad grunting on the floor and Dean flailing around, he couldn’t even think. Dad had been hit by the witch. That meant that there was a hex bag, an active hex bag. The presence of an active hex bag meant that there was active spell work. He’d felt active spell work once before. It was worth the two or three seconds to just close his eyes, relax, and see if he could sense anything. Sure, Dean would object, either make fun of him for being such a “girl” about it or get upset that he was wasting time when Dad was dying up in the trailer, but if this worked he’d have saved time Dad didn’t have.

There. The boy could sense the energy right there, like the vaguest tickle on the back of his neck. He concentrated on the feeling, trying to follow it. Was there some way to boost the signal somehow? Magic probably didn’t work that way, but it had to be nearby.

His eye fell to the interior panel of the driver’s side door. The flaw was so tiny, almost no one would have noticed it if they weren’t looking for it. Sam had spent enough time in the car, and was specifically looking for something wrong. He used the iron knife to pry the panel away from the door and saw it there: a small bundle of red flannel, tied with a leather thong. “Got it!” he yelled to Dean. Then he fished the bag onto the end of his knife, brought it out of the car and laid it out on the ground. With a deep breath, he raised the knife and stabbed the hex bag as hard as he could.

He felt the spell snap, giving off an almost audible ping as the energy rebounded… somewhere. He’d need to check his notes to see if Star had said anything about broken spells rebounding on their casters or if that was just the stuff of fantasy novels, but he had to admit that the results were tangible. Had they been enough though?

Dean came running out of the trailer. “What the hell did you do?” he demanded, eyes widening as he saw Sam crouched over the hex bag. “The fever just broke. He’s starting to open his eyes!”

Sam sat back on the ground, laughing to himself. “I guess it worked!”

Dean blinked. “You guess?” He went back inside. 

After another couple of minutes, Dean re-emerged, John in tow. The patriarch looked awful – his eyes were sunken and his hair plastered to his head with now-cold sweat. His eyes, though, glittered dark and clear as he leaned on his son. “Sam, report,” he snapped, voice hoarse.

“It seemed clear from Dean’s description that you’d been hit by the witch, sir,” Sam told him, standing up. “I came outside to find the hex bag while I told Dean to stay indoors and look. It didn’t seem like you had a lot of time left and I thought we would save more time that way. I figured that the witch would have the most access to the car, so I started there.” 

John stared at him for a few seconds, but Sam stared him down. “Just happened to find the hex bag, huh?”

“Yes, sir.” He pointed to the door panel. “I noticed that the inside panel of the door hadn’t been replaced right. Knew that hadn’t been you, sir.” 

Dean chuckled. Even John broke character a little, the corners of his mouth twitching ever so slightly as he stepped forward. “And how did you break the spell? You didn’t burn the bag, I see.”

“No, sir. I stabbed it with the pure iron knife. I remembered that it worked against most kinds of spirits and ghosts and stuff. I figured that if that didn’t work we could torch it, but if it did work then we’d have a survivor and a recent hex bag to examine before we torched it.” He winced. He probably should have waited, should have either torched the thing or hidden it to help the Teall coven keep the matter internal. It was too late now, though. 

John nodded. “Not bad,” he decided. Sam thought it probably hurt him to say that. “Alright. Dean, c’mere. It’s probably a bad idea for me to touch this thing. Why don’t you cut the thing open and see what you can find?”

Sam folded his lips together and stepped back. He’d just saved his father’s life, but he wasn’t going to be allowed to be part of the investigation. Of course not. He’d never be good enough, no matter what he did. “Looks like that same stuff from before to start with. Hellebore, you said, coriander. Um, some ashes? And maybe some –“

John held up a hand. “Sam, the trailer’s a mess. It had better not be a mess by the time I go back inside.” 

Damn it! His hands clenched into fists as he marched back into the trailer. “He did find the hex bag, sir,” Dean murmured behind him.

“So? Doesn’t mean he should be hearing about this stuff. The last thing we need is for him to be getting ideas in his head about witches. Don’t you remember when he wanted to reason with a ghost? He can’t be trusted, Dean.” John coughed, a violent and sooty-sounding affair. “Alright. From the top.” 

Between John and Dean, they had made a decent-sized mess in the trailer, Sam had to admit. He got to tidying the place up, punching walls as he went along. He had just saved his father’s life. He’d saved his father’s life and he was still the “untrustworthy” one, the one who had to be kept busy out of the way somewhere while everyone else got on with the real work. He’d never measure up, he’d never be allowed to measure up. He’d come up with a solution, all on his own, that would give them clues – but he was still too stupid to be allowed to even see what was inside the stupid hex bag. 

He’d finished cleaning and unrolled his bedroll by the time his elders came back inside. A petty and bitter part of him suspected that was part of John’s plan, so that they wouldn’t have to talk to him directly and so that they could save money on letting him eat dinner, but he didn’t say anything. Getting kicked to the side had kind of soured his appetite anyway. 

The next day he went to the Teall Farm after training. Before he left, though, Dean passed him a note when their father wasn’t looking. Once he sat safely in the passenger seat of Star’s car, he could take the time to read it. Hex bag contents: Hellebore, coriander, ashes, black wax, maybe blood, a scrap of an old shirt of Dad’s that’s been in the trunk of the Impala for over a year.

“Interesting reading?” Star wanted to know.

“My dad got attacked by the rogue witch last night,” he admitted, leaning his head against the window. He saw no reason to lie, not to her. “They didn’t want me around when they opened up the hex bag but Dean got me the list of contents.”

“Your father was targeted?” she gasped. “Oh, Sam, I’m so sorry! Wait – he survived?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, we figured out what was happening. I could kind of feel it, you know? So I found the hex bag.” He explained how he’d found the thing and how he’d broken the spell. “I wasn’t sure that would work, but you told us that iron is usually pretty effective against most kinds of magic so I kind of went with it.” He sighed. “For all the good it did me. My dad still hates me.”

“Do you think he really hates you, Sam?” 

He swallowed. “I know he does. But it doesn’t matter. He’s still alive, he’s fine. I shouldn’t – I shouldn’t think about things like getting paid back by earning his respect or something. That’s selfish of me. It’s why he hates me. I need to focus on just saving lives because it’s the right thing to do.”

“Sam, your father should respect you because that’s the right thing to do. A ten year old isn’t supposed to be a lifesaver. But that’s… that’s a family matter, I guess. I can see why the rogue witch targeted him, though.” 

Sam jumped. “Huh?”

“Well, you told me that she seems to be going after people who aren’t very nice to their kids.” She shrugged. “I know you say it’s a training accident but come on, Sam. We can all see. Don’t get upset – I know you don’t want to say anything against your dad, that’s normal. Natural. But he’s not exactly treating you right.”

Sam sighed. “A lot of people have it worse, okay? He’s trying to teach me. He thinks he’s keeping me safe. I’m not sure how that works, in his head, but he’s not trying to be cruel. He truly believes he’s doing the right thing.” He felt his lip curl and thought he was smiling. “I mean, it’s not like a black dog is going to wait for me to grow a little more before it comes for me, you know?”

“I suppose not.” She kept her eyes on the road. “But if you want to talk, you know where I am.”

He smiled softly. She was awesome, she was the best, but she couldn’t understand. She understood some of what was out there. In some ways she understood more than he did. Still, she couldn’t entirely wrap her head around the Winchester way of life. No one who had a settled home and family could. “Yeah. Thanks.” 

He spent his morning the usual way, working on practical uses for plants. He mentioned to Rachel the herbs that had been found in both hex bags, and she turned pale. “That sounds like fairly intense magic, Sam. Well, I suppose that it would be, all things considered. I don’t suppose you could get the hex bags to us, could you?”

“No ma’am. My dad and brother torched them.” He sighed. “I just… I wish there was some way that I could protect them from those things, you know?”

She nodded, face softening with sympathy. “Most of the spells that I can think of for protection from magic are for settled homes, and while that would be fine for the trailer they wouldn’t work all that well once you left.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’m sure you’re not going to just forget about this once the rogue witch is neutralized.” 

He shook his head fiercely. “I can’t. If anything happens to my dad, Dean and I will wind up in foster care. We’ll be separated. I can’t let that happen. I can’t!”

“I can see where that would be a scary prospect for you, Sam. I think that I might be able to find you a book that might offer some suggestions.” She winked. “Let me see what I can do.” 

“What will happen if you figure out who the witch is?’ He sat down on a stool. 

She bit her lip. “Well, that depends on who she is. We would need to find the best way to neutralize her. If she’s a demonic witch, then we’d have to kill her. It’s not ideal, but there’s no other way to stop her from doing it again.” Sam swallowed, but he nodded. “If she’s not gone down that particular path, there are ways to bind her so that she can’t hurt people but can still live a life. Clearly she has strong feelings and wants to help people; she may be in need of help herself.” 

Sam licked his lips. “Have you narrowed it down at all yet? I’ve been trying to encourage Dad and Dean to stay away from Preble but –“

“Preble?” She blinked at him, putting him in mind of an owl. “What’s in Preble, Sam?”

“Um, Laura thought that the attacks were centered around Preble. So she thought that the witch might be located there. She – I thought she had talked to all of you about that.” 

“Huh.” The teacher rocked her head from side to side. “Okay. Maybe she did. I must have just forgotten. All right. Let’s get back to decanting this tincture, shall we?”

After lunch, Sam went to learn about protective measures with Star and Susan. He had no doubt that Rachel had put a bug in Star’s ear about what topics to cover.

Before he left, Rachel passed him a book. The binding looked new, but the title looked like something right off one of Pastor Jim’s dusty shelves. “Folkloric Beliefs About The Evil Eye,” he read aloud. “Thanks. I’ll have it back to you by the end of the weekend.” 

“Keep it,” she waved. “I’ve got another copy around here somewhere, and I know we’ve all read it a thousand times. I know you’ve probably got more use for it than we do at this point, and it has enough of a scholarly look to it that it shouldn’t cause trouble for you if you get caught with it. I’ve marked pages that might be of interest to you with some pressed flowers.” 

Star drove him home. “Are you feeling a little better?” she asked him.

“Actually, yeah,” he admitted. “I think I am.” 

When he got back to the house, his father and brother were waiting for him. “Sammy, tell us more about this family you’ve been hanging around with all this time,” Dean urged. 

Sam thought his blood might have turned to ice in his veins. He hadn’t left anything incriminating at the house, everything was in his backpack, but he still had the incriminating evidence on his back as he stood under the piercing gaze of both his father and his brother. “They’re farmers,” he shrugged. “Nice people. Susan’s the youngest kid, I think there are six. Star’s the oldest. Why?”

“Are there any men on the property?” Dad rumbled.

Sam snorted. “Not unless they hire day laborers to help with the harvest. They’re kind of like a commune. What’s going on?” He forced himself to walk over to the couch and sit down. 

“I asked at one of the greenhouses,” his father told him. “They told me that they bought their hellebore from the Teall Farm.” 

“They probably did. The Tealls supply a lot of ornamental plants, herbs and shrubs to more than a few of the greenhouses and big box stores around here. It’s how they make their money. They sell regular crops too, but they do a lot of that kind of garden-center work.” It wasn’t a lie. It wasn’t the entire truth, but it wasn’t a lie.

“And they’re all women,” Dean pressed. “A bunch of chicks, all living together.” He licked his lips and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“Gross, Dean,” Sam objected, rolling his eyes. “Are you trying to suggest that someone on the Teall Farm is a witch?”

“Your little girlfriend Star has access to my car whenever I go to the grocery store,” John pointed out. “It’s the perfect opportunity to break in, get my shirt, and get out without raising suspicions.” 

“Except she couldn’t have cast that spell on you.” Sam didn’t even bother to hide the contempt from his voice. “She’d wanted to drive me home. When the spell was cast, she’d intended to be in the car. Besides, who heard of a witch powerful enough to kill people working in the grocery store the summer before college? She’d be building up her money some other way, some less dull way.” He shook his head. “Look. I shouldn’t be telling you this since you obviously have some kind of a… a thing about women living unsupervised –“

“You watch your tone!” Dad barked.

Sam relaxed a little. He’d diverted some of Dad’s attention, at least. “I happened to get a glimpse of some of their sales reports while I was there – you know, learning about herbalism and the business and everything – and it looks like they’ve sold more than a little bit of hellebore to some people up in the Nedrow area. Individuals, not garden centers or whatever. That might be a good place to start looking.”

John snarled and turned away. Dean scowled. “You didn’t think to tell us this earlier, Sammy?”

“Well, it’s not like you gave me a chance,” Sam retorted, exaggerating the eye roll and leaning back, spreading his arms wide. His pulse thundered in his ears, but he couldn’t show fear. “You got in my face about the Tealls as soon as I walked in the door. I just saw these records today, Dean.” 

John grabbed his keys off the table. “I’m going to go check Nedrow out. You boys stay here.” He thundered out the door.

Dean looked at Sam. Sam looked at Dean. “What?”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solving the case doesn't solve the problem.

Sam stayed up late into the night reading the book that Rachel had given him. He’d gotten his father out of his hair for a while, but that was only half the battle. More like a third of the battle, he thought with a twist to his lips that even his brother couldn’t see. Not only did he have to help find the rogue witch so that the coven could deal with her, but he had to keep his father off the trail of the good guys. Sure, no problem at all. 

Oh, right. And keep his family safe from the rogue witch. Fun times. All in a day’s work, really. 

Normal ten year olds did not have to deal with this. Normal ten year olds spent their summers doing chores and having fun, maybe going to camp. They did not contemplate witchcraft or saving their family from terrible if creative death. They didn’t give the slightest thought to sorting good witches from bad. If they thought about magic at all it probably had something to do with top hats and bunny rabbits, and damn John Winchester for putting him and Dean into a situation where they even needed to think about this kind of thing anyway. 

That wasn’t getting him anywhere. Unfortunately, neither was the book. Almost everything in there talked about protecting people in a home from witchcraft – as in, in a settled home. The “charms” talked about burying things in the dirt near the property line or putting this or that in the foundation. Sometimes they recommended planting a specific shrub near the front or rear door to the residence. For a moment, just a second, Sam contemplated adding little containers to the side of the Impala and driving around with shrubs on the side – it would be hell on the mileage but hey, if they didn’t get hit by spell work while they barreled along the highway it would all be worth it, right?

Other options, equally impractical, included hex bags. These were different from cursing hex bags and seemed to be more properly called “mojo bags,” but at the end of the day they worked on some of the same principles. He’d have to create the thing – collect the components with no money of his own (because there was no way Dean wouldn’t notice the emergency fund dwindling) and without anyone noticing Sam performing some kind of ritual in the middle of the motel or wherever they happened to be at the time – and slip it into their bags or pockets or into the Impala without them noticing. Or maybe he could just hand it to them, because that would go over swimmingly. “Here, Dad. I realize that you think all spell work comes from the devil and you’re not sure that I don’t fall into that category myself, but have this thing that looks very much like a hex bag that I made you.” 

Dad would burn him at the stake.

He did find some suggestions. There were runes and sigils that might help, if carved the right way or painted with the right materials at the right time. He was pretty sure that he could come up with those on short notice; it couldn’t be all that different from any of the other tools that they used, like silver or iron or salt. Ditto for the cat’s eye shells.

“Sammy, turn out the light and get some sleep,” Dean groaned from the couch. “Tomorrow’s Saturday and you know Dad isn’t going to care that you stayed up all night reading when it comes to shooting practice.”

Sam rolled his eyes. Dad wouldn’t care if he’d stayed up all night bleeding. Nothing was more important to their father than firing guns, no matter that almost nothing that they fought was affected by bullets. “There’s a word for that,” Sam muttered, turning the light off and stuffing the book under his pillow.

“Yeah, it’s called being a good father,” Dean retorted. “Shut up.”

“Dean, where have you and Dad been going when I’m not around?” The boy rolled over and tried to get comfortable. 

“If we wanted you to know that we’d bring you with us, stupid.”

Sam growled in exasperation. “Look. The witch targets people who harm women and kids, and we both know that while Dad isn’t exactly a saint when it comes to women he doesn’t hurt them.” 

“You shut up about Dad and women, Sammy,” Dean warned. “He doesn’t – he’s faithful, okay?”

Sam bit back a retort. It was important to Dean that this illusion get maintained. He didn’t know why, but that was part of what was so wrong with him he supposed. “Okay, Dean. Anyway, the witch is getting ideas about Dad from seeing one of us, and it’s probably me. But she has to have had access to Dad’s car at some point, because she grabbed his shirt, right? So there has to be someplace where she had access to Dad’s car, where she knew he’d be there. So it has to be someplace he goes more often than not. With me so far?”

Dean’s hand shot out and flicked his ear. “I was with you before, squirt. I’m not stupid.”

“Just annoying.”

“You’re annoying! Anyway, we’ve gone to the library a few times. We’ve gone to the courthouse, we’ve gone to the police station.” He rubbed at his eyes. “We’ve been to the Nice ‘n’ Easy just about every day; all these hills are killing the mileage. The grocery store, too; we’ve been there a few times. That’s why Dad thought it had to be Star.”

“It’s not Star. She’s working when she’s there; people are watching her. It’s not like she can just sneak out and break into people’s cars when she’s supposed to be at her register.” Dad should know these things, Sam thought, balling his fists.

“You know he’s not really like that – a sexist like that. He doesn’t care that a bunch of women live off by themselves or whatever.” Dean withdrew his hand back under his sheet. 

“I don’t know, Dean. That seems to be the entire reason he figured one of them for being the witch – uncontrolled women.” Sam squirmed further down in his bedroll.

“They had the right herbs.”

“So does Home Depot. Is their CEO a witch?”

“Could be,” Dean chuckled. “But he’s not here in Tully. But you’re right, I mean, it’s probably not right to make that assumption just because they’re growing something.”

“No, it doesn’t. Let’s try to get some sleep.” Sam forced his body to still. He didn’t want to stop the conversation – it seemed like Dean never wanted to really talk to him anymore, just bark out orders just like Dad did. It was nice to talk, like brothers should. He was too scared that he might give something important away and betray the trust that the Tealls had placed in him.

Just as Dean had warned him, their father’s training plans were in no way deterred by the fact that there was a witch out for his blood, nor by the fact that it was raining hard enough to make people start to contemplate the building of an ark. “You really think that a Leyak is going to just stay indoors because it’s pissing rain?” John shot back when Dean objected to being made to run in the weather.

“What the hell is a Leyak?” the teenager blinked back.

“Anthropophagous flying head with entrails,” Sam supplied. 

Dean considered. “Sounds gross.” 

“Apparently they don’t care if it’s raining,” the child sighed, lacing up his boots. “Probably washes the entrails clean.” He wished something could wash his entrails clean.

They ran, and they shot, and they sparred, which turned into grappling in the mud. Their father had a plan for them, obviously, and only when the plan had been fulfilled would they be able to go back to the trailer and dry off. They did, however, and after a few hours of sitting in his bedroll with his book Sam even started to feel a little bit warm again.

Sunday brought more rain. Oddly enough, Dad didn’t bother making them train today, but instead brought them into town for brunch at the local diner. Sam borrowed a silver ring from Dean and brushed up against their father with it, but it had no effect. This was their father. “We’re starting to run low on clean and dry clothes,” the adult admitted, maybe a little bit sheepishly. “I figured it was okay to take one day off. Don’t make me regret it.”

“No, sir,” the boys told him in unison.

After brunch they loaded their laundry into the Impala and drove down to Cortland to use the laundromat there; part of not leaving any record was not getting seen using the same facilities too often, Sam supposed. That was okay. This place had better machinery than the one in Tully and he wasn’t stuck alone. When the detergent ran out, though, he did get permission to run out and pick up another jug of it from the Walgreens. That gave him the opportunity to do two things: pick up a bottle of ink and make a phone call.

And his brother thought he was just trying to show how willing he was. He’d never been so grateful for Dean’s sensitive skin before in his life.

Sam rushed out as fast as he could, his father’s money burning a hole in his pocket, and made his way to the corner store. The detergent was heavy, but no one seemed to pay much attention to him as he carried it through the store looking for the ink bottles. This particular laundromat, this Walgreens, was near the college, so he had some hope of finding what he needed. They didn’t have regular ink, just ink in bottles, in the office supplies section, but they did have a relatively small section for art supplies. He guessed SUNY Cortland must offer an art major or something. 

His palms sweated. Dad would want to see the receipt, but there didn’t seem to be cameras. No one was looking, and it wasn’t like he hadn’t shoplifted before. He didn’t like stealing. Stealing was wrong. Then again, so was almost everything else they did, and it was the only way he was going to be able to put the right stuff into the ink. A bottle of ink found its way into his baggy jeans pocket, and Sam followed it up with the absolute cheapest fountain pen they had a moment later. 

He kept his countenance as he paid for the detergent, and then he went up to the counter and paid for the detergent. The clerk frowned. “I don’t think even a double bag is going to hold that for long, kid.” 

“It’s not too bad,” Sam told him with a smile. “I’m not going very far. I just need to make a phone call.” 

The man, probably not much older than Star, shrugged. “Pay phone’s right up there in the corner.” He reached into the leave-a-penny tray. “Here – someone didn’t want to deal with coins or something.” 

Sam felt his eyes widen. “Wow, thanks, mister!” That was a stroke of luck indeed; the change from the detergent hadn’t resulted in any quarters. Was there something else at work here? 

Sam licked his lips as he reached into his backpack and found the phone number for the Teall farm. He didn’t think Dad had followed him, but that didn’t mean much. Dad could easily be right behind him, just out of sight. He was Dad, and he so little trusted Sam that it wouldn’t surprise the boy at all to find that he’d followed him out here just to see if he called anyone or tipped anyone off. He still had to do it, but he could be circumspect about it.

“Hello?” came Kelly’s voice. 

“Uh, hi. This is Sam. Sam Winchester.” 

“Sam! Hello! How are you! Are you in trouble? Do you need help?”

The boy’s knees almost buckled. These people – their first concern, on hearing from him, was to worry about his safety. “No. You do. It’s him. We’re out right now, I can’t talk long, but he’s suspicious.”

Kelly paused, doing the mental translation. “Your dad – does he know about us?”

Sam cleared his throat. “Not necessarily. Suspicious, though.”

“Is he right there with you?”

“Not that I can see,” he murmured into the receiver, cupping his hand around the mouthpiece as though it could give him more privacy. “I tried to convince him to go up to Nedrow but I don’t know if it will work. Look, I can’t talk long, I couldn’t stay out. I just wanted to give you all the heads up.”

“I see. Thanks, Sam. We’ll talk tomorrow.” Kelly’s smile came through just in her voice. “Stay safe.”

“You too, ma’am.” 

He hung up and returned to the laundromat. John did indeed want an exact accounting for the detergent, but Sam was able to give it to him without a problem. 

That night, John went out again. Sam lay back on his clean sheets and studied his book. Apparently written charms could have some efficacy against some kinds of magic and curses – not all, and they weren’t as good as a proper hex bag or some of the things that you buried in the dirt around your property, but if he could get the mix right and the words right it would be something.

John waited with him down near the driveway entrance the next day. “I’m thinking of bringing in Caleb or Joshua on this one,” he admitted as they stood in anticipation. “I’m not sure what else to do. I think Josh has more experience with witches than I do.” 

“Sir.” Sam couldn’t relax as he stood with his father, couldn’t even sit on the giant rock next to the driveway. He had to stand to attention the whole time.

“I hope you realize that I wouldn’t have brought you boys along if I’d realized that there were witches involved here. I mean, I need to keep you boys safe.” John cleared his throat, looking straight ahead.

Sam folded his lips. “You realize that the witch would have had friends, a family anyway.”

“So?” John rose up on his feet a little, almost as though he’d been startled by the comment.

“So you think you’re the only one who gets to dedicate his life to revenge?” He heard the familiar sound of the Tealls’ engine approaching. “We’d have been targets even if you dumped us in a motel room in Oregon. It doesn’t keep us safe.” 

John gave a frustrated little growl. “It does if I say it does.”

Sam just hummed a little. What he said didn’t matter; it wouldn’t convince his father and just made them both angry. He didn’t have time to get angry right now. He had to figure out how to deal with the witch in a way that would get his father away from the Tealls.

The truck pulled up. John leaned into the car, fixing both women in his mind’s eye. “Hi,” he greeted, holding out his hand. “I’m John Winchester. I wanted to thank you for taking such a strong interest in my boy here while I’ve been caught up in this job. I know he can be quite the handful.”

Kelly’s shake was best described as “frosty.” She didn’t shake for one second longer than necessary, but she met John’s eyes squarely. “On the contrary,” she told him. “I’ve raised six children and I’ve never met a child as cooperative and helpful as Sam. We’re delighted to have him around.”

John’s eyes narrowed. “I’m glad to hear he’s been on his best behavior, then. I know he’s been pretty excited by the farm.”

“He seems to have a passion for agriculture in general,” Star observed, the thinnest of smiles gracing her pretty face. “Didn’t he have a job over the winter on a dairy farm?”

John’s face grew flinty as the teen climbed down from the passenger seat, granting Sam access to the cab interior. “An opportunity presented itself. He’s all about opportunities.”

“That is what childhood is all about, John.” Kelly offered a bright smile as Sam buckled his seat belt. “We’ll bring him home tonight.” She put the car in gear as Sam’s heart leaped into his throat. John had no choice but to step back or let the Tealls run over his foot. 

“Well. That was…” Star began.

“Harrowing,” Sam finished. He’d never be as brave, as strong as Kelly and Star had just been. “I can’t believe you just did that! He’s… he’s John Winchester!”

Kelly just chuckled. “He’s a hunter, and he’s probably pretty good at what he does. But I’ve faced down scarier than that. Let’s get you back to the farm and we’ll see what we can do about this whole situation.” 

He swallowed. “Did my call yesterday make any sense?”

“You were trying to say that your father has gotten suspicious of us.” She nodded. “Thank you for finding a way to warn us, Sam. We’ve been talking and we’d like to talk a bit with you about some of the things that have happened. But that will have to wait until we get to the house, and remember – none of this is your fault. Okay?” 

The boy took a deep breath and made himself relax. These were his friends, his teachers. It was all going to be okay.

They pulled into the farm and already things were different. All of the other kids were doing chores, but the adults were all seated around the dining table. Kelly and Star ushered Sam into the room. The teenager went to bring Sam a glass of lemonade while the matron guided the boy to a seat between herself and Mama Rachel, arm gently around his shoulders. “All right, Sam,” she told him. “The last time we’d seen you, your father had been attacked by the rogue witch.” 

Sam cleared his throat. “Yes, ma’am.” He described the attack, and the contents of the hex bag as detailed by his brother. “He figures that the attacker must be someone who sees me, because they’d see my bruises and come to the wrong conclusion. And they’d have to be someone local, because they’d be someone who could get into his car.” He huffed out a little laugh. “He initially suspected Star, because she works at the grocery store.” 

Star clutched at her throat. “Me?” she squeaked.

“That’s ridiculous,” Laura scowled. “How is Star supposed to go into the trunk of the Impala to get the shirt? She’s working the register, for crying out loud! Has the man never worked a real job in his life? She’s dealing with people, not flitting around the parking lot! Also, shouldn’t he be locking his car?”

Sam stopped. “He should be,” he said carefully, licking his lips. He hadn’t mentioned the make of the car. Or that the car hadn’t been locked. “You know, he’s from Kansas. For all the paranoia he’s got as a hunter, there are some things that I’m not sure have entirely set in yet. Like locking the car every time.” He made himself laugh. “I’m not sure that the door was ever locked back in Lawrence, you know?”

“You’d think he’d be a little more circumspect,” she sniffed.

Beside him, Kelly had noticed the way his body stiffened at her sister’s words. “How did you know that the lock hadn’t been broken, Laura?”

Laura stopped. “Lucky guess, I suppose.” 

“Lucky,” Rachel nodded, looking down.

“Look, my dad told me that he was going to bring in some outside hunters,” Sam pressed. “Those guys are good – scary good. And one of them, Josh, has experience hunting witches. You’ve done a good job staying off Dad’s radar so far, but I don’t think he’s got a lot of experience looking for witches. Josh does. He’ll figure you out, he’ll go through my things and figure out that I’ve been learning things –“

“Crap,” hissed Christina. “We can’t – we can’t have this.”

“The rogue witch is putting us all in danger,” Star sighed, her face ashen. “I mean, we’re all going to die from this.” 

“We don’t have to,” Laura countered. “Not if we take out John Winchester first.” She glanced at Sam. “I’m sorry, Sam, but your father’s a danger to the whole community. Not just to the coven, but to you too. And you know it.”

Sam bit his lip. “He is,” he admitted. “He – well. But he’ll be noticed. And unless you want to kill a fourteen-year-old boy, other hunters will know that it was witchcraft and that he was suspicious of the Teall family. I’ll cover for you; Dean won’t.” He forced himself to breathe normally. Dad – he didn’t want to kill his father. He didn’t want to let someone else kill his father. He wanted safety, he wanted freedom, he wanted stability. He didn’t want someone to murder his father.

Rachel’s jaw dropped. “You’re talking cold-blooded murder here, Laura!”

“The man is vicious, Rachel!” the witch snapped, rising to her feet. “You see what he’s done to his son, no doubt he’ll do worse. And he’s hunting us. He’s doubtless done worse. He should be put down before he can hurt more people, hurt them worse than they’ve already been hurt!”

“We don’t kill people,” Kelly insisted, also rising. She put her hands on the table and leaned forward, partially blocking Sam from Laura’s view. “We’re protectors, healers!”

“This is protection!” A long, blunt-nailed finger pointed out the window. “This is healing! This whole county has been plagued by men hurting women for decades, and no one’s been willing to take a stand and do something about it until now! Those men who’ve been killed – do you really think that any of them are any kind of a loss to society? They’re – they’re wife beaters! Baby killers! Rapists! They’re the worst kind of scum! Sisters, there is nothing wrong with what I’ve been doing! The fact is that the legal system doesn’t defend women against men. When women defend themselves we get the book thrown at us while men, they walk. They get off scot free or with a slap on the wrist. This, this is the only way for women to defend women!”

“Except it isn’t,” Christine sighed, burying her face in her hands. “I mean, first of all, what makes you think that you have all of the facts in the case? You know, we have jury trials for a reason. No single person has all of the facts in a case. I mean, even when someone’s guilty of a terrible crime there are mitigating factors, Laura! It’s not on us, on any single person, to decide who gets to live and who gets to die.”

“Oh, but it’s okay for these, these dicks?” Laura’s eyes were wild in her head now. “It’s okay for them to make their decisions about their women and their children, or about another person’s humanity in the case of hunters?”

“No,” Rachel sighed, tears rolling openly down her face. “No, it isn’t. But we’re supposed to be better than they are.” 

“They shot you!” Laura screamed. “They shot you, Rachel!”

“And I’ll never forget that! I’ll never forget lying there in that swamp, pretending I was dead and hoping they’d just go away and assume the job was done,” the herbalist shot back. “But that doesn’t mean that it’s okay for me to go around playing judge, jury and executioner!”

“All of this is true,” Kelly stated, in a colder voice than Sam had thought would ever be possible from her. “But there’s something else you’ve done here, Laura. By deciding to use magic to become some kind of vigilante, you’ve brought hunters down on our heads. You’ve endangered the entire coven.”

“We’re going to have to bind her,” Rachel declared, in such a tone of sadness that Sam thought his own heart might break. “There’s no other way.”

“You can’t do that,” Laura snarled, a sweat breaking out over her face. She had started to hyperventilate. “You can’t do that! I am part of this coven! I have the right to pursue my own projects!”

“You have put every person in this house in danger!” Christine shouted, slamming her hands down on the table. Sam jumped, and Star hugged him closer to herself. “Do you understand this? You might have killed us all!” Her eyes bulged for a second, and she waved a hand and spoke a few words in a language Sam didn’t understand. Laura struggled, but collapsed to the floor. 

“Bring her to the cellar,” Kelly sighed, rubbing at her eyes. She sounded profoundly exhausted. “We’ll do the binding tonight. It will be stronger then. There’s no reason to wake her up before then.” 

Sam released the breath he’d been holding. “So you can just… do that, huh?”

“Sometimes.” She smiled wanly. “It isn’t exactly easy. And it takes decades of commitment and study. But that’s not the important thing right now. We have a hunter to worry about. I met your father this morning, Sam. I think he does believe that there are witches here, and I don’t think he’s going to be swayed by the fact that most of us are good witches or by the fact that we’re neutralizing the bad one.”

“No.” He massaged his own temples. “He’s not exactly discriminating when it comes to ‘not human.’ And his definitions are pretty narrow. But, um. You know, I think we can work with this.” 

Four sets of eyes raised their eyebrows at him. “Seriously?” Star asked, for all of them.

“Sure.” He took a deep breath, mind racing. “He’s already got the farm’s scent, so we let him keep it. We need a dead body, any dead body, and a lot of lumber. And, um, you guys are going to have to do some serious lying.” 

“You want us to just go dig up a dead body.” Christine made a face. “What’s that going to accomplish?”

“We tell him that we caught the witch stealing herbs from the property. Or you caught her making a birch wand or something, I don’t know. Something you could have picked up in a basic book from a normal library that tipped you off. Found her dancing skyclad in the far field or something. The body needs to be female. We’ll need some kind of amulet or something, not really magical but something that he’ll believe.” He started chewing on his nails. 

“You want us to burn a random body on our property.” Kelly blinked.

“Well. We can do it on someone else’s, but it won’t shake Dad’s suspicions.” He sighed. “It’s gross. I know.”

Rachel waved a hand. “We’re witches, Sam. We’re fine with gross.” She tugged at her own hair. “You want to bring a hunter. Here.”

“Yeah. But I’m pretty sure he’ll come running anyway. When I’m late.” He took another deep breath. “This will probably get kind of ugly. But I think it’s the only way to get us all out of this without the coven getting caught out. Without any living people getting killed,” he amended. 

The coven members exchanged looks. “Kelly, you and I can go get a body,” Christine sighed finally. “Star, you and Rachel stay here and make sure there’s nothing incriminating where Winchester can find it.” 

“I’ll need some blood, too,” Sam requested. “I can use my own but I’d rather not.”

Sam went and recruited Susan and one of her sisters to go and find enough firewood to build a pyre. The task took a surprising amount of time and technically required sneaking into the closed state park and stealing some of their wood, but they had ATVs and could get away with that. It wasn’t like any rangers were going to come calling. Star and Rachel managed the house and property, carefully hiding anything that even vaguely smacked of witchcraft. 

Sam helped to hide Laura’s slumbering form in a cellar under one of the barns. The room had been lined in iron, painted in sigils the boy couldn’t even begin to comprehend, but it had a small cot. “It’s not a permanent solution,” Star explained. “Sometimes things happen – a witch can lose her mind, a little, or get possessed. Then she needs to be kept safe while we come up with a solution. I think the last time it was used might have been thirty years ago.” 

The boy swallowed. He could almost imagine himself, locked away into a similar room, sweating away and screaming in delirium. “It seems like a fate worse than death,” he whispered as he helped to position Laura on the bed. “Is she… do you think she’s comfortable?”

“I think she was killing people, and still might get us all killed,” Star sighed, stroking her mother’s face gently. “I don’t care if she’s comfortable.” 

“She only wanted to help.” Sam stood up and stuck his hands in his pockets. Would any of this have come to pass, would this family have been harmed, if he hadn’t crossed their paths? If he hadn’t gone to that library meeting would they be hurting right now?

“I don’t know.” She stood too, proud and tall beside him. “How many other serial killers have said the same thing? They were ridding society of a menace?” 

She had a point, but Sam didn’t belabor it. Instead, the pair locked the door behind them and returned to building the pyre.

Sam found some herbs that would stand out to John as having appropriately witchy uses and damaged some of the plants, making it appear that someone had tried to harvest them. It took Christine and Kelly another couple of hours to get back to the farm with a suitable body. “Fortunately security is lax at the medical school right now,” Kelly grimaced as the pair maneuvered the recently deceased young woman out of a tarp. “No blood, though. Sorry, kiddo.”

“It’s alright. I’ll make do.” He pulled his iron knife out of his boot and drew it across his arm with a hiss.

“Sam, what the hell!” Rachel exclaimed.

“Need enough blood on the blade that he’ll believe she was stabbed,” he explained. “Alright. Let’s get this started.” 

Christine produced an amulet – no magical properties, although it could have been imbued with such – from her own supplies and hung it around the deceased neck. Between the four of them they got the body onto the pyre and got it lit.

Sam messed his clothing up enough to simulate a fight, and it was a good thing that he had. His father showed up about three hours after dark, the Impala screeching up the driveway like some kind of lion. He barely got the car turned off before he and Dean had both jumped out of the car, running over to grab Sam by the light of the burning pyre.

The stink of burning flesh still clung to the air, although it wasn’t possible to make out any human features in the flames anymore. “What the hell do you think you’re still doing here, boy?” John snarled, shaking him.

“Excuse me,” Kelly snapped, stepping right into John’s personal space and putting a hand on Sam. “Do you not see that this boy’s been through a trauma?”

John’s eyes bulged. “Now you listen to me, lady –“

“Dad, it was the – it was the person you were looking for.” Sam didn’t have to fake the trembling in his limbs, although the cause was probably different than what his father assumed. “She came here. To the farm.” 

John released him with a shove. “Really.”

“Really,” Rachel retorted. “I’m not sure what she was supposed to be, but we caught her on the property trying to steal cuttings of hellebore. We were just going to scare her off, but she did something, I don’t know what.”

“Rachel started to choke,” Christine continued, looking away. “It was terrifying. We didn’t know how to help. Sam recognized what was happening and threw his iron knife at her.” 

“He told us what to do,” Star finished. “Said we had to burn her to ash.”

Dean helped Sam up from the ground, checking him for injuries. “Dude, that was the dumbest thing you’ve ever done,” he objected, pinching him hard. “Going up against a witch all alone! You should have come and gotten me and Dad right away!”

Kelly gave a snort of contempt. “Rachel was dying.” She crossed her arms across her chest. “You really think he was going to walk all the way back to your place and just hope that you were there? He saved our sister’s life, and all you can do is criticize him?” She shook her head. 

“Don’t even think you know how to raise my son, lady,” John seethed. “Sam, get in the car. We will deal with this at home.” 

Dean escorted Sam back to the Impala, letting him grab his bookbag as he went. He sat in the car until the pyre burned down while John stood outside with the coven. No one said a word. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loose ends are woven in.

Dean didn’t mind leaving Tully. From his perspective, the entire case had been a disaster from start to finish. He hated anything to do with witches, and he always had. This case, in particular, had been exceptionally terrible. 

The trailer, for starters, had been a dump. It had been a semi-abandoned boxcar in the back of someone’s property. Okay, fine. So Dad wanted to toughen Sammy up. On the one hand that seemed a little bit unfair to his little brother. Sammy had been raised on the road, hadn’t even had the benefit of four and a half years of comfort the way that Dean had, so why Dad thought that Sammy had been coddled somehow and needed even more discomfort and austerity the boy didn’t know. On the other hand, the kid needed to stop fighting their way of life. If Dad thought that meant he needed to get tougher, then he needed to get tougher. Dean might not see how that was possible, but he wasn’t paid to think. 

Plus, there weren’t any girls to speak of. Oh, sure, Tully had girls. Dean had seen them as they drove past the community pool, or marched past the beaches set up by any one of the beautiful lakes for which Tully was known, or as they drove through town in search of clues. And whatever people might say about the wilds of upstate New York, the girls were pretty. Dean couldn’t tell you anything more about them. He couldn’t say if they were willing or if they were prudish, if they were high maintenance or if they were chill, if they were fun or if they were snobbish, because he never got a chance to talk to any of them. Not a single girl, except for Sammy’s little girlfriend at the library there.

So his mood had been bad to begin with, and Sammy hadn’t helped. He’d pushed back against Dad at every possible opportunity. He couldn’t just shut up and accept life, go with the flow. He couldn’t just do what he was told. He had to question, he had to push back, he had to doubt. And when Dean tried to reconcile his brother to his fate, like a good big brother should, he pushed back against _Dean_ , doubted _Dean_. And that hurt even worse.

There had been a point, he was sure of it, when his little brother had just taken everything he’d said at face value and let him be the authority and the hero. Why couldn’t things just stay the same? Why did he ever have to go and read their dad’s journal, anyway? 

Dean knew the answer, if he thought about it. He’d read the journal because he’d figured out that Dean and Dad were keeping secrets from him. He’d stopped trusting. Now though, Sammy was keeping secrets from _him_. He was sure of it. That whole story about how Sammy’d just happened to come across the witch on the farm? That was a line of crap. Dean was his older brother, he knew crap when he heard it. The hard part was figuring out what kind of a line of crap it was. That, and how much of what to tell Dad.

Keeping secrets from Dad was wrong. Dean knew that as sure as he knew that the sun was hot and water was wet. Dad needed to be able to trust him, and he couldn’t do that if Dean kept secrets from him. 

At the same time, he’d seen Sammy’s face when Dad had gone to bring him into the woods for that survival training exercise. That had been true terror right there – absolute fear. Sammy had believed, without a doubt, that his father meant to kill him. 

It was nuts, of course. Dad loved his sons, and Sammy was his favorite. But Dad didn’t always do a great job of showing Sammy that Sammy was the favorite. Even Dean could see that. He was too gruff with him, didn’t give him the praise he needed, and mostly tried to frighten the boy into obedience. If Dean went to John with half-formed ideas about “Sammy keeping secrets” John would demand that he hold the boy down while the eldest Winchester searched everything the boy had ever touched, and quite possibly punished him for even giving Dean cause to think he was keeping secrets too.

And if Dad thought that was what was necessary, then that was what was necessary, of course. But… well, maybe it could be avoided. Maybe he could figure out some way to aim Dad, to not have him go off quite so bad when he did figure out what was going on with Sammy.

So he sat back, and he waited for his brother to come to him with whatever problem it might be that he had. Even as they drove away from Tully and up into Vermont for the night, he didn’t bring it up. He let Sam sit in silence in the back seat, reading or whatever he was doing.

He forgot about Sammy’s little secret when they got to their ultimate destination, a remote cabin in northern Maine. Their father had wanted to isolate Sammy so they could make him focus; well, this would be the right place to do it. 

Much to his surprise, when they left that potato-dependent town, Sammy slipped something into his hand. “Here,” he muttered. “Keep it.”

Dean looked at it. Sammy had written out, in his usual minute script, some kind of long text in Latin. “The hell is this?”

“It’s a protective charm. Like a blessing, specifically against witchcraft. Pope Leo wrote it down for King Charles I.” He blinked up at Dean, hazel eyes working overtime with their puppy-dog shtick. “It’s for protection, Dean.”

“What am I supposed to do with it?”

“Carry it with you, dumbass. Keep it with your condoms in your wallet.”

Dean blushed bright red. “You’re not supposed to know about those!”

Sam laughed. “Dean, who do you think keeps putting them in there?”

For John’s part, he found the witch hunt in Tully to be even more frustrating than his son had. He’d been wrong about the creature they’d been hunting, and that never happened. Well, it hadn’t happened since he’d gotten his hunting legs under him, anyway. He’d never have brought the boys onto a witch hunt. They needed to know about that sort of thing – well, Dean did – but not yet. He was still too young, too easily lured in by a pretty face.

But in the end it had been John himself who had been the target, not his sons. John had been targeted because of his sons, or rather because of one of his sons. No one had come out and said, “I’m trying to kill you because you’re battering your boy,” but it wasn’t hard to put the details together. That was the kind of man the witch went after, after all.

And sure, Sammy might say that he’d claimed it was a training accident or he’d been roughhousing with his brother or whatever the hell else, but John knew better. Sammy thought he was special. That he shouldn’t be disciplined for stepping out of line, that he didn’t merit a belting when he’d earned one. John knew how it was. Sam thought John mistreated both of them. Maybe he hadn’t even said anything to anyone. Maybe the witch had just picked the words right out of his tainted little brain. 

Either way, him getting targeted by that witch had been Sam’s fault entirely. John, who had done everything to keep Sam safe, had almost died because of his younger son’s self-pity complex. The thought was enough to drive him into a rage.

At the same time, it had been Sam who had found the hex bag. It had been Sam who had saved him. Sam, too, had apparently found the witch and killed her, although that sounded more like luck than anything else. Seriously, as though a ten year old spoiled brat who couldn’t even manage to survive a night on a hillside could possibly figure out which woman in all of Tully was a witch!

He’d come to Tully for a case, but he’d also come to do something for his son. Sammy had been spoiled. He’d gotten attached to worldly ideas and concerns. His mind was anyplace but the hunt, anyplace but Mary. Hell, Mary was just another name as far as the boy was concerned. John needed to do something to bring him around to hunting, to cure him of this idea that there was ever going to be anything else for him.

In boot camp, the drill sergeants tore you down until you were nothing, and then they built you up again. They made a completely new man out of you. That was clearly what Sam needed. These teachers and these guidance counselors, they’d built Sam up until his ego couldn’t be contained. It wouldn’t be much fun, but he already thought he had something to say to John, thought he had some kind of right to question his father, to stand up to him.

He needed to learn to trust his father, and John could only think of one way to teach that. It wasn’t going to be fun. The boy would hate it, but in the long run it was for the boy’s own good. It would help him reconcile himself to life as Dean’s little brother, life in the Winchester fold. 

For crying out loud, Sammy thought John had been trying to kill him! How the hell was he supposed to train the boy if he kept thinking things like that? If the boy figured that the safest thing for him would be to do the opposite of what John ordered? He couldn’t get over the things Sam had said during sparring, the way Sam had gone after him. The way Sam had freaked out when they’d gone for that survival exercise.

The boy needed help. This life, it wasn’t what John had wanted for either of his sons when they’d been born, but it had found them. He needed to make sure they were safe, and – well, he knew that Sam was just inherently less safe than Dean was. Even if he wasn’t tainted, even if he wasn’t “special” the way that all sorts of critters kept telling John Sam was “special,” he certainly did seem to attract a lot of attention. He was always going to be a target. John wasn’t going to be able to help the boy if he didn’t learn to give up those ideas about having a normal life and living outside of the family, having friends and a career and whatever-the-hell. He needed to give all that up, even more than Dean had. It was his duty as a father to help his son to do so, and the sooner he did it the less painful it would be for both of them. At least, the less painful it would be over the long term.

Nothing from the summer made it into his journal. He did come across a charm – some kind of incantation against witchcraft, supposed to be effective just written down and carried with a person. Hell, there couldn’t be much wrong with it if a pope had written it down, right? He made a note of it in September, when the scars of the summer had finally faded enough. 

Sam had known that he wouldn’t see any of his friends again when he left the Teall Farm that night. He would miss them, but he didn’t regret what they’d done. Laura hadn’t needed to die – she needed help, not death. The person who had been torched – well, she’d donated her body to science, but he supposed that this didn’t not count. It wasn’t exactly what she had in mind but it was still a good cause. Star could always write a paper about it if they wanted to make sure that the letter of her intent was honored. 

He felt a little bit bitter about getting ripped away from people who cared about him, but that wasn’t exactly new. He always felt kind of bitter, every time they picked up stakes and rolled along to the next new town. This time seemed a little different, though. Maybe a little worse. The Tealls, had helped him. They’d taught him. They’d fed him, and they’d laughed with him, and they’d made sure that he had time to play and to learn to be a child. 

He was going to miss the tire swings. He was going to miss the pond. He was going to miss the familiar forest, and the fields. He’d miss the library, with the movie Tuesdays and the ready access to books that he could read just because he wanted to know things. 

Dad drove them up to Maine, some rural and vaguely coastal town. This time it was Dean who mostly had liberty; Sam was his father’s pet project for the next month. He had some idea about Sam somehow learning to trust him by being so torn down and isolated that he had nothing else. 

There was training every day, all day. Sam ran until he threw up and he did pull-ups until he couldn’t physically move his arms. John tied him up and left him on the side of a hill with nothing but a silver and iron knife and the orders, “be here when I come back in three days.” Sam built himself a little shelter in the trees and survived on water, and told his father that he was an abusive dick for the exercise. The next time he tried it, Sam decided that the order to stay on the hillside was negotiable and took off. He didn’t even care where he wound up at that point; he just wanted to be gone. 

Dean kept telling him that his father was trying to help him. “You need to learn to trust him, Sammy,” he soothed, rubbing antibiotic ointment on the cuts. “He’s trying to help you to do that.”

“He’s trying to kill me,” Sam insisted. “I should just let him.”

“Hey – none of that. I don’t see why you won’t just trust him. He’s never hurt you before.” 

“That’s all he’s ever done.” 

It wasn’t until the very end of the summer that Pastor Jim called with a hunt not too far from them, just a little farther south in the state. Then Dad abruptly abandoned his “pet project” to go and work on research for this big hunt, and Sam could focus on that protective charm for Dean.

He made the ink from the stuff he’d stolen from the Walgreens in Cortland, adding powdered rue and sage and a little bit of holy water. Holy water never hurt, he figured. He cut himself with his little silver knife, adding a bit of his own blood to the ink, and he murmured the incantation he’d found under the light of the full moon. Then he copied out the words of the charm, in Latin, on the piece of paper.

The next day, before they’d headed south, he handed the piece of paper to Dean. “Here,” he muttered. “Keep it.” 

Dean looked at it. “The hell is this?” Well, what had Sam expected? It wasn’t like Dean could read Latin, not really.

“It’s a protective charm. Like a blessing, specifically against witchcraft. Pope Leo wrote it down for King Charles I.” He blinked up at Dean, silently pleading for his brother to take the charm. “It’s for protection, Dean.”

“What am I supposed to do with it?” He held the tiny document out at arm’s length.

“Carry it with you, dumbass. Keep it with your condoms in your wallet.” Sam rolled his eyes.

Dean blushed bright red. “You’re not supposed to know about those!”

Sam laughed. “Dean, who do you think keeps putting them in there?”

Dean’s blush increased, and Sam felt all warm inside. Things might be okay after all.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art for casestory bigbang 'Strange Brew' by Safiyabat](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4143318) by [stormbrite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormbrite/pseuds/stormbrite)




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